Nights at Nightgate
by misto713
Summary: Rich Orc writer who lived in a wine cellar. Growled like a gentleman. Fished in Fine Clothes. Politely dismissive and friendly standoffish. This Balagog was a mystery and Gerda was determined to figure him out. Balagog gro-Nolob / F!Nord!DB.
1. Chapter 1

"What a perfect ending to a perfect day," Gerda muttered angrily to herself as she tiredly stumbled down the path to what her map said was Nightgate Inn.

Not only was this the tenth day she was travelling the wilds without any 'city breaks', earlier this morning she decided to first explore the nearby tomb, Ironbind Barrow, before she ended up at the inn and inevitably got roped into another meaningless 'fetch' quest. Sometimes, she felt like a trained dog. "Heh, more like a trained dragon," she snorted to herself.

The day she found out she's the legendary Dragonborn was ironically the best day of her life, despite the dragon fighting, burnt corpses of several guards they arrived too late to save and the suspicious looks from Housecarl Irileth. It felt good to have a purpose. A goal. A shame she already dealt with Alduin, she could use a challenge some-

"Ouch! Dammit!" Gerda cursed after stumbling yet again on the rather steep way down and decided to look where she was going rather than remember her past glories. These stumbles didn't exactly help her almost-broken skull and still electrified insides. Normally, it would pose no problem to her as she was rather handy with Restoration, if not for the accident. Or better said, the assassination attempt.

Gerda was so used to the mostly-nice Argonians living at Windhelm docks, that she forgot not all of them were good people. When Beem-Ja decided to pull a vampire on her and not so gently 'ask' for her blood for his creepy rituals, it certainly came as a shock. Much more shocking than his measly Lightning Bolt spell, anyway.

Still, it hit her at exactly the same moment as when she absorbed the final word of Become Ethereal Shout. Then she got hit upside the head by the re-resurrected Warlord Gathrik for good measure.

Not many people knew this, but Shouts were similar to spells in that you needed to really concentrate on their meaning to use them. Concentration while absorbing them was nearly as important. That one unfortunate hit shook her enough to mess her concentration and now she felt… off.

She felt as if her insides were half-floating in Oblivion and it was only sheer will and a good dose of luck that kept them in her body. So, no need to challenge fate by healing herself; especially since she was not as essential to the fate of this world as she used to be, Alduin being dead and all.

She had a feeling that mixing healing spells into that little magic-storm of half-absorbed Shout, power from the lightning bolt and those different, subtler magicks of resurrected, killed and resurrected again Draugr would be a bad idea. Gerda was not willing to risk her life, and more importantly her sanity, to heal injuries that won't kill her. Little bit of down time won't hurt her. Much. Not like she had a world to save. Not anymore…

Gerda was sometimes glad that the Nords of Skyrim had no common sense. 'Seriously, whose idea was it to build an inn in the middle of nowhere, less than an hour of leisurely walk from an ancient tomb full of dangerous walking corpses?' she thought to herself as she stumbled down the path to the inn. She paused in bewilderment, then snorted, 'And then have the door face away from the main road.'

Even after several years of living in Skyrim, she just couldn't get used to the Nords' way of thinking. Ironic, since she was a Nord herself.

Tall, blonde and green-eyed, she would have been quite popular amongst members of the opposite gender, if not for her other characteristics. If people wished to be polite, they called her strong and proud. Her well defined muscles were also mentioned often. What people said behind Gerda's back wasn't worth repeating. Well, maybe expect for the unremarkable and common part.

Gerda never cared for her appearance beyond keeping herself clean, much to the disgust and frustration of both her parents who wanted her to marry well. It didn't matter now anyway, at the age of twenty-nine and well set into the role of an adventurer and savior of the world, she didn't need to fear being sold… bargained for… engaged to a 'proper' gentleman.

As she finally reached the door to Nightgate Inn, she thought that her life turned out… fine, despite everything. Even if having someone to come home to would be nice, she couldn't really complain.

-balablob-balablob-balablob-

Entering the inn was like stepping into another world. Gerda knew several inns in the warm climates of Cyrodiil that were colder than this one. Fire blazed in the middle of the common room as if the innkeeper expected to entertain a horde of delicate Breton mages or perhaps needed to cook enough to feed a Giant camp. None of which was the case; as far as she could see, the inn only held one old drunk and the innkeeper.

Well, she couldn't complain. After so long in the freezing wilderness, any warmth would feel good. Deciding to rent a room first, she stepped up to the Innkeeper, who introduced himself as Hadring.

"I want to get a room for a week." Gerda decided it would be best to stay a while to make sure that the hit and magic mix will have no unexpected side-effects. "I'll buy some of your food, too."

Hadring's eyebrows climbed up. It was not often this inn got a guest for more than one night. The occasional soldier on a mission or a passing merchant, yes, but most either continued on to Windhelm or Dawnstar. But he didn't protest and after a bit of haggling over which room to stay in, Gerda quickly found herself in a spacious room with a double bed.

Comfortable, especially after a week spent sleeping on the cold, freezing Skyrim ground.

She barely heard Hadring mention he'll make something for dinner before she threw all her bags on the floor and immediately went for the bed.


	2. Chapter 2

'Sleep is the best healer after all. Or was it time?' Gerda thought when she woke up a couple hours later, feeling much better already. The room was still comfortably warm and she smelled something nice in the air. 'Must be my dinner,' she took another deep breath. 'If it tastes half as good as it smells, I might have to come here more often.'

Gerda ordered a bath and took a good look at the content of her bags. More gold than she knew what to do with, some half-spoiled food she'll throw out later, armor and weapons, alchemy ingredients, scrolls, rare potions, gems, lockpicks, even a pickaxe and different kinds of ore,… everything she could possibly need. Except for clothes. Figures.

She sighed. Her set of enchanted ebony armor was of excellent quality and make, but not intended for sitting around in while at an Inn. Especially when she planned to spend more than a day there. She started digging around in her seemingly bottomless bag for something appropriate to wear.

She was almost at the point where she considered walking out in her woolen underthings, when she dug out an old set of Forsworn armor. Hmm. Maybe she'll dress in this fur and bones underwear instead. That was oddly enough considered decent... Nords were so strange.

She forgot that she still carried it. The one time she used it seemed so long ago…

The armor would come in handy now, though. Thankfully the innkeeper never got the hang of smart money management and the Inn was kept hot even if barely anyone was inside. Though she would probably wear it even if he didn't burn enough wood to make fire dragons uncomfortably warm. The cold never bothered her as much as it seemed to bother everyone around her.

She packed her ebony armor and tried to remember how to put on those little pieces so they'd at least cover the important bits.

After several minutes she concluded that either she got fat, or she forgot how to wear this… thing properly. The upper bit barely covered her nipples and she was getting uncomfortable drafts in her nether regions. 'Might also be because the Forsworn I pulled the armor off was a little Breton girl.' Not exactly the same size as 'a big Nord cow' like her.

Deciding it won't get any better, she went to the bar to eat her dinner. First thing she noticed was that the sights didn't match the smells.

Her dinner consisted of a fish so 'crispy' it was actually black and very small, equally black 'baked' potatoes. 'How can something so hideous smell to… tasty?' she wondered.

Hadring stood at the bar next to her plate with an expression of pride, completely oblivious to the expression of distaste she didn't even bother to hide. "Your dinner, girl," he stated to remove all doubt about the contents of the plate.

Gerda took a few bites and decided that it tasted as bad as it looked. Giving her 'dinner' up as bad idea, she decided to eat the rest of her supplies later in the room and did what she always did at an Inn - started asking questions.

"Do you get much business here?"

Hadring seemed happy that he finally had someone to chat with, "Nah, not so much. The odd traveler on the road. But mostly just old Fultheim, come to drink away a lifetime of bad memories, I'd wager. Course there's the Orc. Long-term tenant, that one. For what he pays, I could afford to shut this place down."

Orc? As in one? From what Gerda knew, they usually kept to their strongholds and rarely traveled. Even more rarely did they travel alone. "Tell me about the Orc."

"Him? Oh… Ah, his name's Balablob or Malaclob, one of them funny Orc names. Talks real good, though. Not a savage at all." Hadring leaned in and his voice got a bit more spirited, as if he was sharing a great secret.

"Said he's a writer. Don't know what kind of job that is, but it must earn him some pretty coin. He's paid up for the next few months." Then he leaned back and continued in that disinterested tone from before, "He mostly just hangs about. Goes down to the lake, sometimes samples the stores of wine in the cellar. Man can do whatever he pleases, far as I care."

That seemed to close that topic for Hadring, as he lost the little interest in the conversation he had and returned to polishing the counter.

Gerda couldn't help herself though and a small laugh escaped her at the ridiculousness of that statement. "Balablob? Hadring, friend, I can just imagine how you'd try to report him to the guard if something happened. 'He's an Orc, some writer, name's Balablob or something'. I don't think they'd be happy that you didn't even bother to remember the name of your one-and-only long term tenant."

She smirked at his dumbfounded and half-insulted expression and asked, "Where can I find him? I better ask him his own name." Maybe he'd be a better conversation partner than Hadring. That might give her something to do during the long nights of her recovery.

Leyawiin, where she was born, didn't have a lot of Orsimeri. The Orcs of Skyrim seemed more interested in fights than conversation, but this one sounded like a scholar. An Orc writer. What a fascinating combination. Maybe he'll have some good stories to share. She smiled a bit to herself.

Hadring replied somewhat coldly, "He stays down in the cellar. Best not to bother him." Seemed her little jokes were not appreciated. Ah well.

-balablob-balablob-balablob-

'This is getting strange,' Gerda thought as she made her way down the stairs into the cellar. 'If he's rich enough to pay for several months in advance, why didn't he stay in the nice room upstairs?'

When she entered the cellar, the first thing she noticed was the cold. Not that it bothered her much, most likely she wouldn't even notice it if she was wearing her armor, but it was noticeable in this glorified fur underwear. Definitely not comfortable room temperature to sleep in, especially for a hot-blooded race like the Orcs. Second was the view - barrels full of wine, old crates and spider webs along the walls… it was a common view of a wine cellar, but definitely not a place for a rich writer to rent.

She went a bit further and saw the 'room'. It was little better than a hole in the wall. Didn't even have a door. It was also just as cold, if not colder, than the rest of the cellar. The inside wasn't anything great either. The straw bed was… common for Skyrim, but definitely overpriced for what he must be paying.

It seemed as if someone decided to create a new room just for this one tenant. Then they threw one bed and a wardrobe in here and considered their task done.

The lute by the bed was a bit surprising. It definitely must belong to the Orc, since Hadring wouldn't put something so nice in an empty cellar room.

She slowly made her way inside. That's when she finally saw the Orc.

He was sitting in one of the room's corners and his whole posture screamed defensiveness. He gave her a look as if he thought her an assassin, here to take his life or something. It was kind of insulting, really. Gerda decided to chat with him anyway, since she was already there and growing curious.

"Hello there. I'm a new tenant. I'll stay here for a week. Can you tell me…" she didn't even finish her sentence, before he interrupted her.

"I can't help you, friend. Talk to Hadring, the innkeeper."

Well, that was rude. Or, it would be, if he didn't say it so… gently. His tone didn't match his words. Actually, his words didn't match his race, either. She never heard an Orc call her friend, even after she was named Blood-Kin and saved an entire stronghold.

She just stood there and stared at him dumbly. Of all the possible scenarios, this one she didn't expect.

"I value my privacy. So if you don't mind?" He gave her a soft, almost pleading look, gently asking her to leave. That was even stranger. She expected at least a growled name. She expected an answer along the line of 'I'm Grr gro-Something, now get lost.' Instead he... politely asked her to leave and even pointed her in the right direction of help, in case the one-and-only door out confused her.

She studied him a bit more. He was tall, but then, most Orcs were. Slightly muscled, especially his arms, but obviously not a warrior. Not handsome, not even by Orc standards, but there was something...

With a start, she realized she considered him attractive. 'Gathrik must have hit my head harder than I thought,' Gerda told herself. She never found Orsimeri attractive and this one wasn't even good looking amongst his own kind. So why…?

He behaved like a green-skinned and tusky Cyrodiil gentleman. No. Better. He reminded her of what those 'noble' gentlemen should have been, not what they actually were - snobby, arrogant weaklings who sneered at her and considered her beneath them because she actually knew how to use her sword and shield. No matter how much money she had or what she achieved.

The Orc started to fidget. He was obviously getting more and more uncomfortable the longer she stood there.

"I really don't mean to be rude, friend, but I'm not feeling particularly sociable..." He seemed lonely, yet he didn't allow himself to accept company. Very strange.

'There is something odd going on here', Gerda thought. 'And I'm going to figure out what'.

Best not to make him any more nervous, though. Since her company was obviously not accepted at this point, Gerda decided to leave. She had a whole week to figure him out, after all.

As she was leaving his „room", she turned one last time to say a proper goodbye. The Orc's eyes were focused on her backside. When he saw her turn to him, his eyes slowly rose up to meet hers.

His wide-eyed look of embarrassment when he noticed she was looking back at him was surprisingly amusing. Since appreciative gazes never insulted her, Gerda decided not to call attention to it, simply smiled and said, „Fight well," before she walked out of The Orc's Cellar.

Maybe this week won't be so long after all.

-balablob-balablob-balablob-

Gerda sat in the warm common room and thought about that strange meeting. The more she thought about it the less sense it all made.

The obviously rich Orc lived in a freezing basement, when he could easily have the fancy room upstairs. Growled like a gentleman. Had eyes that asked for company, even though his mouth said leave. Friendly standoffish. Considerately dismissive. Desperately trying to be polite, even as he sent people away.

He was a puzzle. Gerda grinned to herself. She loved puzzles.

Time to ask around a bit more. Fultheim might know something; people always underestimated the things those 'lower' than them saw and heard.

She bought a bottle of mead and sat next to Fultheim at his bench. Without preamble, she asked, "What do you know about the Orc?"

He tiredly lifted his head, stared at the tankard full of mead she offered him and started talking, "Well, he don't like company, I can tell you that much. Just wants to be left alone." Then he frowned and said thoughtfully, "But no... that's not really it. It's like... he wants to talk. Likes people and all. But he stays separate, because he's supposed to." He took a good long drink from his tankard and added, "Kind of sad, really."

Yes, that was what Gerda thought too. 'I don't know what you hide, friend, but if even Fultheim noticed, you are very bad at the hiding part.'

Secrets like these usually came back to bite her in the ass. She was used to solving them, more out of necessity than curiosity. Her true curiosity was reserved for Dwemer puzzles; those at least she solved willingly.

This one, though, seemed more like a private affair than a secret plot to murder her. The man was allowed to have some privacy, right?

Only privacy didn't seem to be what he wanted, but what he had to live with. Was someone blackmailing him? What or who was he hiding from?

Damn, she didn't have nearly enough information. She didn't even know his name.

Tomorrow couldn't arrive fast enough.


	3. Chapter 3

After breakfast which was just as awful as dinner the night before, Gerda decided to ask Hadring some more questions. It never hurt to try and since the Orc wasn't talking…

„Does the Orc buy food from you, too?"

„Ah, no. He comes by every morning and makes his own food. Takes a fine fish, fusses over it and then drowns it in spices and whatnot," Hadring sniffed. „That's no way to properly make food, if you ask me. Us Nords, we know how to cook. You should stick your fish in the fire and then just wait til' it's done. None of that fancy fiddling with it."

Gerda tried to smile, but it came out more as a grimace. No wonder the Inn smelled so fantastic this morning... and no wonder Hadring's cooking tasted like crap.

If she knew how to cook, she'd do as the Orc did and make her own food, but in this case she was unfortunately about as skilled as Hadring. 'Cook it till it looks done' or 'Eat it raw' were two of her favorite food preparation techniques. Not that she couldn't appreciate good food; far from it. She just couldn't prepare it, is all.

Her attempts would at least be a little bit better than Hadring's – she wouldn't burn it completely… maybe… she hoped – so she decided she better catch some fish on her own. How fortunate that the lake full of smelly fish was right out of the door… Sigh. 'Nords'.

-balablob-balablob-balablob-

The crisp morning air somehow felt different when she wasn't thinking of where to go next or worrying about her countless tasks and responsibilities. She breathed in deeply. Thankfully it seemed that her Nord blood still gave her some advantage, as she didn't feel too cold despite her clothing… or lack of it.

She sat at the pier, leaning against the poles and stared at the lake's surface. Everything around her was still and quiet. No, that was not it. She still heard a bear roaring in the distance and the cries of birds in the skies. Yet it was… peaceful.

It calmed something in her and released tension she didn't know she had. It was only now she realized just how tense she's been for who knows how long. Maybe since Helgen. Maybe since long before that.

She didn't know how long she sat there. She barely even noticed the fishing pole, nets or boat nearby. Gerda simply enjoyed her moment of peace. Then she heard the door to the inn open.

It seemed she was not the only one who enjoyed the quiet peace of the lake. The Rich Orc From The Basement, her new favorite mystery, barely looked where he was going and automatically aimed for the spot she sat at. Gerda decided to simply watch him make his way over to her.

He was just a few steps from her when he noticed her sitting there. He paused as if he had no idea what to do now that his spot was "taken" by some stranger. Just another thing that separated him from other Orsimeri. Most would already be growling at her to get lost. This one looked like he was considering how to politely tell her to move aside or perhaps suggest they work out a schedule. Gerda suppressed a smile.

"Hello, friend. A fine morning, is it not?" she welcomed him. If he truly was the gentleman she believed him to be, he would feel obligated to join her, or at least make some excuse to be able to leave without insulting.

For a moment, he seemed to waver between possible responses. His eyes clearly said he wanted to talk, yet he was obviously gearing himself for refusal. Gerda decided to jump in and tried another approach.

"Will you join me? There's enough space for everyone. Don't worry, I don't bite," Gerda had no idea what possessed her to add with a cheeky smirk, "unless specifically requested."

His eyes widened, as if that was the last thing he ever expected to hear. Maybe hers did, too. 'Where in Oblivion did that come from?' Gerda never flirted. With anyone. Especially not since she became the Dragonborn and fulfilled her destiny. People might get ideas.

Marriage to the Dragonborn, Archmange and Harbinger all in one person would be a political coup for anyone. Half the Jarls didn't have as much respect from the people of Skyrim as she did. It was better for all concerned not to give people false hope.

Her reaction to her own statement ironically seemed to reassure him, as he relaxed and mournfully replied, "Thank you for your offer. However, I value my privacy and would prefer to be alone." It seemed like such a trained response. Gerda wondered how many times he already said it.

More importantly, who held such sway over him, that he wouldn't even dare to sit next to another person in the middle of nowhere?

Gerda decided that honesty would work better than anything else, if she wanted him to stay. That's when she realized that she truly wanted him to stay. Considering she spent most of her life content in the middle of wilderness and antsy in a crowd, that was surprising. Even if she did only want to figure him out.

"So do I. I ask only for company. There is a difference between privacy and hiding." She gave him a small, calming smile, "We can talk about the weather or any common topic. Or simply sit here in silence and enjoy this beautiful morning, if that is your wish."

He hesitated for one last moment, then stepped a bit closer and leaned against a pillar across from her. He seemed almost grateful.

With a start, she realized he must indeed be very lonely. Who could he possibly talk to? The permanently drunk Fultheim or the simple-minded Hadring, who didn't even bother to remember his name? Exhausted travelers, soldiers and merchants passing through wouldn't offer much in terms of company either.

Perhaps simply standing next to someone without expectations, prodding or rude insults about his race was enough.

"My name is Gerda Sword-Weaver. May I know yours?" She almost automatically slipped into the more noble way of talking from Cyrodiil. More and more, his manner reminded her of a soft-spoken gentleman.

"Balagog gro-Nolob. Pleased to meet you." He replied almost automatically. Then he tensed up, most likely expecting a round of invasive questions and preparing his well-trained answers.

'Too bad I'm about to disappoint your expectations, friend,' Gerda thought to herself and simply replied, "Pleased to meet you as well." Then she turned and continued her staring at the lake's surface. A barely audible sigh of relief reached her ears and she suppressed another smile.

After a while, he relaxed even further and sat down next to her, uncaring whether his fine clothes got dirty. They sat there for a while, neither feeling the need to break their silence with small talk. When Balagog rolled up his sleeves and started fishing, Gerda simply watched.

He had strong hands, she noticed. Not like a warrior, but as a man used to physical work. It was yet another inconsistency she noticed about him. Fine clothes but workers hands. And definitely not the hands of a writer…

'I wonder how he'll react to magic.' Gerda learned that most Orcs detested magic and would at least growl or flinch when they saw it used. Some would even turn hostile to an attempt to heal them. Gerda would normally refrain from using it in 'mixed company', but she had a feeling this Orc will surprise her yet again.

She sat up properly, turned her eyes back to the lake and prepared her Telekinesis spell. She felt Balagog's eyes on her, as he felt the gathering of power, yet he said nothing.

There! She summoned a Salmon swimming close to where she sat. The moment the fish flew close, she turned to face the pillar and released the spell. The salmon smacked into the pillar and fell on the pier, dead.

"Fascinating form of fishing," Balagog turned his head to take a closer look at her. He didn't seem angry or unsettled. If anything, he seemed amused. "I am certain I've never seen the like before."

"I fish like a Breton mage." Gerda grinned at him, happy that he started talking. Happy that he seemed to accept her use of magic. Happy and even more curious about him. "It allows me to catch the fish and kill it without dirtying my hands."

Balagog chuckled, "I've never seen a Breton mage fish like that." Then he realized that he revealed something about himself and started to clam up. Gerda decided to quickly cover the slip for him, before he closed up and she possibly lost his company.

"Me neither. But they seem the type, right? They would likely have people to fish for them, though."

"Have you met many mages in your travels?" he seemed eager to talk about her. Whether he wanted to turn the conversation away from himself or he really wanted to know more about her, that remained a mystery.

"Quite a few. Then I killed most of them for being filthy necromancers," she frowned in thought, "There are surprisingly few mages outside the College that don't turn to banditry or worse. I wonder why…"

"People of Skyrim seem to be less accepting of mages than other provinces of Tamriel." Balagog commented absentmindedly. "If people only look for monsters, that is what they will find."

"Hmm, you may be right. But I don't think hugging the necromancers would help at this point. They already chose their path," Gerda replied. She itched to ask him how many provinces of Tamriel he traveled to make his comparison, but didn't dare. Not yet.

"What about those who never had a choice?" He seemed oddly curious about her answer. Gerda wondered what he was really asking her about. There seemed to be an undertone to his question. She didn't have much time to ponder it, though.

"Then they can always decide to give up their evil ways. The Gods forgive many sins, as long as the intention to change is sincere." Gerda smiled a bit when she remembered that one quest from Dawnstar, "If a Dunmer priest of Vaermina could become a priest of Mara, then everything is possible."

Balagog obviously found comfort in her answer. He nodded to her and turned back to his fishing.

The morning was so beautiful, that Gerda couldn't muster up the will to try some tactic and figure him out. Maybe it wasn't so important after all; he'll open up with some more personal information on his own, once they get a little closer – she was sure of it.

As her eyes started to close and she leaned back against the pillar, her last conscious thought was that this morning, she found more peace sitting next to this strange Orc than with all the Nords of Skyrim combined.

-balablob-balablob-balablob-

Gerda had no idea how long she slept. When she opened her eyes, the sun was still up, but it was starting to get colder, meaning it would get dark soon. Did she sleep through the whole day? She lifted her head to look around.

Balagog stood next to her and looked down with an unreadable expression. 'Did he stay next to me the whole day?' she wondered. She felt a bit embarrassed about falling asleep like that. Her only excuse was that her injuries were still not fully healed.

"We should leave for the Inn. The sun will set soon," Balagog said in a calm, quiet voice. Seemed Gerda was not the only one influenced by the calm waters of the lake. Her company perhaps helped too. At least she hoped so.

Balagog offered her a hand up, like a proper gentleman. Gerda smiled sleepily and reached to accept it.

But he didn't count on how heavy she was. She was not a lady whose most strenuous activity was moaning about an absentee lover. She was too sleepy to realize he was no fellow warrior, he was not knowledgeable enough about warriors to count in her… mass.

What happened next was inevitable. Gerda grabbed his hand to pull herself up, but Balagog only expected to lift a lady, not a mountain of heavy muscle. When she pulled, he went down like a stone and fell right on top of her.

That woke her up properly. His head fell on her breasts, thankfully forehead first, since those tusks would hurt, and he somehow fell right between her legs. Balagog was struggling to get up, but the more he struggled, the more awkward and embarrassing their position got.

Gerda couldn't help it – she laughed. She put one arm around his shoulders to steady him, then simply flipped them over and pushed herself up. Still laughing, she offered him her own hand, reversing their previous positions.

Balagog didn't respond for a moment; he simply laid there with his face in hands. When he finally put his hands down, Gerda almost started laughing again.

'This is fun,' Gerda thought as she saw his mortified blush. 'I should do it more often.'

He accepted her hand and this time they both got up without further incidents. He was gearing up for an apology, but she simply waved it off. It was definitely not necessary.

Together, they went back to the inn.

-balablob-balablob-balablob-

Once she left her own fish in the common room for tomorrow and finished the rest of her own supplies for dinner (rather than risk food poisoning from another of Hadring's creations), she decided to go visit Balagog in his room.

He just finished his own dinner. The cellar room still smelled delicious. Gerda was determined to get him to cook something for her. Soon. Before she died from 'proper Nord cooking'.

"Hey, can I borrow your lute?" She asked as soon as she walked into his room.

Balagog lifted his head in shock. It seemed he didn't expect her to come to him. Or maybe he didn't expect her to be this friendly after only one day of knowing him… most of which she spent sleeping.

"Oh, well, certainly," he stuttered out. "Do you know how to play?"

Gerda merely lifted her eyebrow at him.

Balagog realized what he said, "I… Sorry, it is merely that you… don't look the type."

Gerda just laughed. "You are right, I'm not. But I was bored a few months back and decided to learn." She blushed a bit, "Besides, it was getting a bit too… old, listening to all those renditions of Dragonborn Comes."

Balagog relaxed and waved her towards the lute. "Be my guest."

Gerda grabbed the lute and sat down next to him on the fur laying on the floor. She recalled several melodies from Cyrodiil and tentatively started playing them.

They spent their evening like that. Gerda played as many melodies as she could remember and Balagog sat there and listened. She even caught him humming a few of them under his breath. 'So, he definitely comes from Cyrodiil. Or at least, he has spent a lot of time there.'

Once she left his room several hours later, Gerda realized she didn't even start to figure his secret out, yet she felt content. By now, she was fairly certain the secret was not evil or illegal. Balagog really didn't seem the type.

In that moment, she decided to abandon her attempt to figure it all out.

What she didn't realize was that the thought of abandoning his company along with her pursuit of his secrets never even crossed her mind.

-balablob-balablob-balablob-

_That night, Gerda dreamed._

_She found herself lying on a straw bed, naked. The room was cold, yet she felt warm. Safe. A lute played softly in the background. She had no idea where she was, only that she was happy. Content. Peaceful, as she'd never been before._

_The head on her shoulder lifted a bit. She looked down to see a soft look in her lover's stormy eyes and his smile full of tusks._

_She smiled back._

_As she leaned in for a kiss, she noticed the blood. A river of blood flooding from her lover's neck onto her bare breasts._

_His head fell; eyes empty._

_The last thing she saw was the cold, sick gleam of a poisoned dagger and hatred in the orange eyes of their assassin._

Gerda woke up with a gasp, shivering. What was that?

The last time she had a dream like that was the night before she passed through the Jerall Mountains into Skyrim. That time she dreamed of hopelessness and a huge black mass suffocating her as the world around her burned.

The next day, she found herself on a cart headed for execution.

Was this another warning from the Divines? If so, what were they telling her this time?

Gerda had the uncomfortable feeling this was not the first time she dreamed of those eyes. That hateful orange gaze. Fangs in darkness. Poison. Was that a Daedra priest? A Volkihar vampire angry over the death of their kin? Or perhaps a missing member of the Dark Brotherhood?

But she already destroyed the Dark Brotherhood!

Then she realized the how naïve that thought was. As long as hatred existed, as long as people were willing to pay others to kill for them, the Dark Brotherhood would never be destroyed.

Gerda felt she should warn Commander Maro… but warn him of what? That there may be more people willing to kill the soon-to-be-visiting Emperor as that Vicci chit so proudly exclaimed to anyone who would listen? Well, of course there were. There will always be and Maro knew that. Yet she couldn't shake that strange, unsettling feeling that she was missing something.

Her mind turned towards more pleasant thoughts, namely the first part of her dream. With a blush, she realized she dreamed of Balagog. Why? She only knew him for one day, for Gods sake!

Everyone talked about how life in Skyrim was short and courtship even shorter, but she was from Leyawiin. She barely even knew him!

She couldn't deny that she felt… something, when she talked with him. Or even just sat next to him. But that was not enough to marry someone…

With a little start she realized she was acting stupid. There were plenty of people who had sex without marrying. Maybe it was just her and her Cyrodiil ideas that if a girl sleeps with someone, she should marry them.

She was the Dragonborn now. There was nothing and no one who could force her to do something she didn't want to do. She was not dependant on anyone. Not anymore. She was free to do as she pleased. And if she wanted to get a lover, then by Gods, she'll get him. If he wanted her, that is…

With a sigh, she laid back down and stared at the ceiling. The first part of her dream was so… beautiful. She never felt a Lover's Comfort. The few times she slept with people back in Cyrodiil, it was always over way too quickly; as soon as both partners got their satisfaction, they went their own ways. That's how she wanted it at the time. But now…

What would it be like to sleep, actually sleep next to someone without fear of getting robbed or killed? When she knew she will wake up next to them in the morning and smile…

She wanted that. But she was unlikely to find it. Sure, there were many people… worthy and brave, funny and noble, sarcastic and serious, kind and strong… But there was no one she connected with. There was always something missing. Could this mysterious Orc be the one? Could she find something with him, something she never found with any of the others?

'Heh, dating him would probably be shocking enough to get a reaction even from Lydia!'

As she thought about it, her sleepy brain finally made the connection. Was Balagog hiding from the Dark Brotherhood? Was someone after him? Was that why he never talked about personal details or chatted with strangers? If so, why would he give his real name? It definitely was his real name, his face was way too open for him to be able to lie about something so personal.

Well, those assassins chose the wrong target. No one will get him, not on Gerda's watch!

With a last smile, half-asleep, Gerda decided to make the first part of her dream come true; then she'll do everything in her power to make sure the second part did not.


	4. Chapter 4

Gerda woke up and immediately wished she hadn't. Hadring 'cooked' again. Which meant he burned her fish to ashes and expected her to thank him for it. Damn it! She only caught the one.

Well, she'd have to either go and catch a new one, or risk it and swallow the burned mess.

Or she could get Balagog to make something for her. She grinned.

Luckily for her, she entered the common room at exactly the same moment as Balagog's cellar door opened. She took it as a sign of mercy from the Divines.

"Good morning," she greeted him with a smile. "Did you sleep well?" Gerda asked but then immediately blushed as she recalled her own dream. Thankfully Balagog seemed too preoccupied with looking at her 'breakfast' to notice.

"What… is _that_?" he asked, horrified.

"Proper Nord cooking, at least according to Hadring," Gerda replied dryly. "Did you not try it first, before you decided to make your own meals?"

Balagog looked at her, shocked, "No, I never tried it. I decided to cook for myself before I even arrived here."

Gerda couldn't help but tease him a bit, "So you must know how to cook really well. Men who know how to cook should be treasured," she grinned. Then she decided to turn an old cliché on its head - it seemed to fit their situation, "The way to a woman's heart is through her stomach."

And there it was – Balagog was blushing again. She was quickly becoming addicted to his blushes. She should stop doing this before it led to something neither of them was ready for right now.

She decided to get back on topic of her breakfast, "_Please_, don't leave me at the mercy of Hadring's cooking," Gerda begged, only partially in jest. If she had to eat burned fish and half-rotten-half-green potatoes one more time, she'd crack someone's skull. Most likely Hadring's.

Balagog hesitated, unsure if he should open up more than he already had. Strangely, it was Hadring himself that made up his mind for him, as he just entered the room, bearing an armful of blackish frozen carrots.

"I'll make some vegetable soup to go with the fish!" Hadring exclaimed with a wide grin as if he was chosen to cook for the Emperor himself.

Balagog took one look at Gerda's face and quickly turned away to hide his smile. His amusement faded, though, when she turned to him with a desperate, pleading look.

"I'm not certain I should," he tried to get away from her pleading looks, but couldn't think of a reason that would sound the slightest bit believable.

Gerda decided to push a little more. She laid a hand on his shoulder. Balagog tensed a bit and gave an inscrutable look out of the corner of his eyes. Time to open up a new Oblivion gate, Gerda thought as she said in a flirty voice, "I'd really like to taste something of yours."

Balagog's cheeks went completely dark. This was the strongest blush she saw on him yet. Even stronger than the one from yesterday.

Was that too much? That was her being subtle…

Well, they didn't call her _Power Bash_ for nothing.

"I… very well, I'll make something for you," he seemed eager to put some distance between them. Or run away from her, Gerda couldn't tell which. But as she got a tasty meal out of it, she decided not to test her luck and withdrew her hand from his shoulder.

Yet in that moment, Gerda was struck with the absurdity of the situation. If she didn't know any better, she'd say she was watching an experienced warrior try to seduce a shy maiden.

Well, she might be an experienced warrior, sure, but Balagog as a blushing virgin? She threw a glance in his direction - he was still looking away and blushing. 'No, surely not...'

But the notion stuck.

Gerda was so deep in thought she barely noticed when he left to gather ingredients to prepare her breakfast. What shook her out of her thoughts was the smell.

She licked her lips and looked at him. _Delicious_.

She could get used to this.

-balablob-balablob-balablob-

- The next day-

"Then you add the… yes, like that. Now pick the spice and gently add a pinch. Yes, that should be enough," Balagog was a really good teacher.

Gerda had no idea her suggestion of sharing meals and cooking duties would end up like this.

She merely thought it would be nice to pay him back somehow for those meals she pushed him into preparing for her yesterday; she didn't expect cooking lessons out of it.

When she mentioned her skills were unfortunately little better than Hadring's, Balagog hesitated for a bit, then offered to teach her some basics.

Not that she complained about the lessons. Balagog was pleasant company even when he was trying to 'keep his privacy', but when he was in his element? Gerda couldn't get enough. She loved listening to that gentle, cultured growling. Encouragement never sounded better.

'Hah, if my mother ever tried to teach me this way, I might have listened,' Gerda thought as she stirred the soup.

"Thank you for this." She smiled over her shoulder at him; a smile he hesitantly returned. "You know, I never knew food can taste that good. It's a shame I never learned properly." Men might have noticed her then, before she became the Dragonborn, a hero and savior of the world. Where would she be now, had she chosen a different path all those years ago? Gerda frowned a bit in thought.

"You already took the first step, that is what's important." Balagog seemed intent on engouraging her, "Start here, and some day, you too can be a go... great cook," his smile turned a bit forced. This time Gerda had no idea what triggered his defensiveness. Did he almost let something slip again?

With a start, she realized she truly didn't care anymore. His company was more important than figuring out his secrets.

She smiled at him, "Thank you for these lessons. You know, if I continue like this, I might get to settle down one day." Her gaze turned distant, wondering if there will ever be a man to accept her adventuring nature; someone for her to come home to, instead of the other way around.

She looked back at Balagog. He was looking at her, not saying a thing. She couldn't figure out his expression.

He stepped back a bit. "Give it a few more minutes and it should be ready. You learn fast. We'll make a cook out of you yet." He seemed in a hurry to leave, but she had no idea why.

"I'll see you tonight, all right?" She called after him, hesitant.

He turned back to her and smiled, "If you wish."

-balablob-balablob-balablob-

The next few days passed in a similar fashion. Gerda and Balagog spent most of their time together, either in companionable silence or making small talk. And flirting. Lots and lots of flirting. All coming from Gerda, unfortunately; but then, Balagog didn't say much in general. Probably still trying to protect whatever secret he had.

Both Hadring and Fultheim noticed, but neither commented on it yet. Hadring probably decided not to piss off his only two paying tenants and Fultheim… was probably too drunk to care.

Gerda was slowly but steadily getting more courageous as far as flirting was concerned. Seeing Balagog blush was just so funny. Also, as it seemed he had no idea how to respond, it made him a safe target for her admittedly unskilled and too direct attempts. Most Nords would already be all over her. Most men of other races too, for that matter.

After a particularly fetching blush, she decided to say goodbye to common sense and upped the stakes. "Will you visit my room tonight?" Gerda asked with an inviting smile.

Balagog swallowed and looked away, "Skyrim might be more… free with such things, but visiting a lady's room is not proper. People might get the wrong idea."

"Or perhaps the right one," she answered and leaned in even closer. "If it is something you wish for as well."

"It does not bother you people see me get into your room at night?" Balagog asked her incredulously.

"Not at all. After all, you already got between my legs," she winked at him. "On the first day of knowing me, no less."

"Gerda," Balagog said in that growling voice of his. "Surely there are many Nords who would be happy to have you…" he seemed almost desperate to put some distance between them. Yet he was also unwilling to take a single step back.

"Sure, they'd like to have a strong woman like me," Gerda snorted. "As long as the strong woman in question isn't stronger than them. Or these noble Nords quickly realize that pretty little Breton girls are actually very attractive and exactly what they want." She knew she sounded bitter, but she was way past caring. The hypocrisy of her kinsmen always angered her.

"You… somehow, you see both my sides." She reached out and caressed his cheek. He shivered, closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. "I am a woman and you notice that. I am also a warrior; something it seems you accept. Or am I wrong?"

Balagog shivered under her caress, then replied, "N-no," he swallowed heavily, "you being a warrior is something to be respected, not hidden." He licked his dry lips.

They looked so inviting that Gerda couldn't help but want to lick them, too. Balagog noticed her gaze and swallowed back a groan.

His face turned so dark she feared the blush will become permanent. He simply nodded in answer to her original question, then rose on slightly shaky legs and went to take his meal in his room.

Gerda watched him leave with a cheeky smirk, then noticed that Fultheim was calling her over. When she sat down next to him, she realized the old drunk decided to share his 'professional' opinion of her private affairs.

"He's mighty nice for an Orc, but he's an Orc." He gave Gerda a half-drunk, half-leering grin. "Take care not to bite off more than you can chew, girly." Fultheim finished his advice laughing, "Or maybe he'd be the biter, eh?"

Gerda didn't know what made Fultheim so sure she was an innocent maid in need of protection. She also had no idea that Hadring or Fultheim were willing to comment. They didn't seem to care until now.

She just gave him a non-committal reply and walked away.

Hm, maybe it was better this way. If Balagog really didn't want or like her flirting, he'll just stay in his room. But if he keeps to their "appointment" in her room, he must be open to her advances. She hoped.

There was something else that bothered her, though. The way he all but ran from a kiss that didn't even happen…

Was he a virgin after all? If so, did she want to be his first?

First times should be special. Gerda learned that the hard way, when she sacrificed her virginity to the greatest braggart she could find so she could gain her freedom from social expectations and become a warrior. She did not want to be the one to take something so precious from another, not if she planned to leave. Eventually.

But she still wanted him. She still planned to have him. Did that mean she wanted to stay? For longer than a few days or weeks?

Gerda was startled to realize that her answer was _yes_.

-balablob-balablob-balablob-

When Balagog entered her room that evening, Gerda noticed he looked… almost scared. That was… not good. Gerda wanted him, sure, but she also wanted him to be comfortable with her. She wanted that look from her dream. The peace she felt when she sat next to him.

This will need some expert handling. 'No flirting, you oaf, or you'll scare him off completely,' she told herself and decided to do something she noticed relaxed him. Something he felt no need to defend himself or his secrets against. She talked of her adventures.

But which one? In those few years she spent in Skyrim, she had so many. Most of them boring. She usually got to the place she was supposed to be at, killed everything in sight, got the item people asked her to get, then she went back and handed it over.

This time, she would need something a bit… lighter. Funnier. Perhaps… perhaps the tale of her 'engagement' would do.

Gerda waved him closer, "Come, come, my friend," she gestured to the table with two chairs and several mead bottles that she already prepared. "I promise, we won't get all that drunk. I already learned my lesson with Sam Guevenne." She smirked at him.

Balagog lifted an eyebrow at the bottles, then conveniently asked, "Sam Guevenne. Anyone I should know?"

"Oh, I'm sure even I don't truly know who or what that was. But he is tied closely to the tale of my engagement…"

Balagog flinched as if she punched him. He tried to mask it, but was not very successful, "You are engaged?"

Gerda saw her mistake and was quick to reassure him. "Was. For less than four days from what I counted." Now she will definitely have to tell the tale to its end. "Sit down and I'll tell you about that one night to remember."

Balagog cautiously sat down and picked a tankard. Gerda sat next to him and started talking.

„...then my 'fiancé' gave one final mighty screech and fell over dead. Right on top of her bed covered in bloody human bones. As if on cue, several of the Spriggan heads outside fell down too. Aaaand that marked the end of my rather remarkable betrothed," Gerda finished with a laugh.

Balagog chuckled. While she was talking, he had several tankards of mead. His cheeks were slightly flushed. Gerda found it very attractive. As she found most things about him, she noticed. „Oh? How did the search for the staff end then? That was the purpose of the entire pursuit, was it not?"

„Ah, yes, I eventually tracked it down to some Necromancer lair. Call me oblivious, but that was the first time I suspected something was wrong. After I killed them all, a mysterious portal opened almost on top of me and seemed to invite me in." Gerda gave him a wry smile. „I still don't know what Daedra it was, but I knew better than to step through and loose my soul to one of them. "

Balagog seemed troubled. „Some of us don't have the freedom to choose," he said and looked away.

Gerda suddenly remembered his question from the first day. Now she understood what he was really asking.

As a Dragonborn, she was the unwilling target of many Daedric Gods. During their talks, she also made it quite clear she detested being bound or forced into… well… anything. Yet Balagog, as an Orc, was already a Daedra worshipper of a sort. Their patron God was one, after all.

She really was not certain how to handle this. She never considered Malacath a true Daedra anyway, since he cared for and watched over his people as the Aedra did. If she were to have a favorite Daedra, it would be Malacath. She appreciated his loyalty - even after his involuntary change, he stuck by them and they by him. That was hard to find amongst any Gods, be they Aedra or Daedra.

She decided on honesty, as usual. Why hide under a mask, when she was trying to get to know someone? "I believe there is a difference between Daedra worship and evil doings." She sighed and looked down.

"I'm not really the best person to ask. I've had too many Daedra attempt to ensnare me, but I know of several who worship them, yet are good people, doing great things." Aela came to mind, even if that girl was a bit too… savage, for Gerda's tastes.

"As long as the one doing the worshipping doesn't try to kill, rape or steal in the name of 'religion', I have no problem with any Daedra worship." Then Gerda realized something and chuckled, "Actually, the Daedric Gods themselves are often less evil than their human worshippers. I helped Azura get her star from an evil Necromancer who wanted to corrupt it and then helped Meridia rid her temple of Necromancers. Funny how Necromancers were involved both times."

Balagog looked her in the eyes. He seemed a bit confused, "So you follow Azura and Meridia, then? I thought…"

"Oh no, I merely helped them, because it was the right thing to do; something I would have done anyway." She saw where he might be confused about it. "I handed Azura's Star back to her, then left it at the altar - cleansing the Star is her own job. Meridia tried to lock me in her temple until I took her precious sword, but forgot that I'm also a mage." Gerda's grin turned malicious. "I have a few tricks up my sleeve; I'll never have to worry about being locked somewhere again." She waved the whole topic away, "For me, they were nothing more than some beings that needed my help."

Balagog stared as if he never saw anything like her before. "You… walked away? Just left? They did not strike you down?"

"I'm a bit stronger than your average human," she gave him a mockingly arrogant look. He didn't seem to get it, but accepted it anyway. "Hm, now that I think about it, I helped Malacath, too. One of the strongholds, at least, then I cleansed his shrine of Giants. I didn't accept his hammer, but he seemed pleased with me anyway."

Balagog really didn't know what to say to that. He simply took another sip of his mead. "So, you don't mind… Daedra worshippers, as long as they do not commit evil." He leaned back in his chair. "You are more open-minded than I'm used to." He quietly added, "I like that."

It seemed Gerda was not the only one opening here. Most of what Balagog said until now was… neutral. This was actually the first time he said anything about what he thought or felt. The first time he complimented her.

The feeling of warmth that spread over her chest was unexpected. She felt herself start to blush.

Balagog's lips curled into a small smile. He probably enjoyed turning the tables on her. Usually it was her making him blush, after all.

Balagog handed her a tankard full of mead. As she reached for it, their fingers touched. Heat spread through both of them.

Gerda gently took his hand in her own. Balagog didn't protest; in fact, he seemed glad she took the leading role. As if he waited for her to do just that.

It was moments like these she hated the Nord architecture and the incredible stupidity of people who built Inn rooms without doors. If she tried anything more than this, it would be immediately visible to Hadring. Fultheim would probably come watch too, for good measure.

Gerda reluctantly let go of his hand. She took a long drink from her tankard.

This will be a long night.

After several hours and several bottles of mead and ale, she decided to get them to Balagog's room. Gerda insisted that she can sing and play the lute better than any bard and wanted to prove it, right then.

Balagog smiled and laughed with her as she sung yet another drunken rendition of Ragnar the Red and Gerda couldn't help the warm feelings his attention gave her. She wanted more.

She tried to move closer and kiss him, but her legs just wouldn't obey her. Suddenly, she realized she lied on the stone floor.

Gerda heard Balagog move closer.

"For a strong Nord warrior, you certainly are a lightweight," he smiled fondly.

Gerda barely heard him, since the swimming ceiling was making her nauseous. He moved even closer to her, then she felt herself being gently lifted. The last thing she heard felt the gentle rumble of his chest, before she let herself fall asleep in his arms.

When Gerda woke up, she noticed her room was colder than usual. Then she noticed that her ceiling was solid stone. Finally she turned her head and saw Balagog sleeping in the chair next to... his bed.

'Hmm. I fell asleep and he must have put me in his bed. What should I make of this, I wonder,' she thought, still half asleep.

This scene was oddly intimate. Perhaps even more so than if she found him sleeping next to her.

It reminded her of her own grandparents, how her grandmother always rested at grandfather's side when he was sick. She felt oddly touched by the gesture.

'He really is a sweet man,' was her last thought before she drifted off again. This time she slept till morning.

-balablob-balablob-balablob-

**A/N: Explanation about how Gerda escaped Meridia's temple without taking the Dawnbreaker.**

**Omake: The Mysterious Spell**

Gerda sat down tiredly.

Ancano was a pile of dust and the Psijics took the ball of shiny with them. Then they oh so gracefully threw this epic mess onto her lap by naming her Archmage.

Tolfdir agreed before she could say anything about it. Git. Probably afraid he'd be named if he didn't find a scapegoat quickly enough.

With another sigh, she took a look around the room she sat in. The Archmage's quarters.

It still felt wrong to be here. It felt so… lived in. By someone other than her, that is. Aren left his personal items here. She wondered how many of them she will find in the coming months.

Well, no time like the present. Better to get this over with.

She started with some kind of chest full of books. That felt less invasive than the rest of Aren's room.

She randomly tossed a few Apprentice level spellbooks aside. Why the Archmage even had those, she had no idea. He must have known these spells already.

She delved in even deeper. She merely prayed she will not find any Lusty Argonian Maid books in here. That would destroy her image of Aren forever.

At the very bottom of the chest, she found something strange.

It was a single sheet of paper, covered in a strange drawing of a dark rectangle and grayish writing. The sheet only contained two words.

_'coc Whiterun'_

She muttered those words under her breath.

As soon as she said them, her entire world turned dark and misty. Suddenly, she found herself standing at the bridge near Whiterun.

She looked around in shock. A grin slowly appeared on her face.

'Let Tolfdir deal with the College. I… have some research to do.'


	5. Chapter 5

The noise coming from the common room woke Gerda early the next morning. At first she wanted to get back to sleep - Inns were usually very noisy and she got used to that a long time ago. Then she realized what that noise meant.

Someone came to visit Nightgate. Many someones, in fact.

Gerda jumped up and hastily righted her now familiar Forsworn armor. She hoped it was a merchant caravan. This scrap of fur stopped being amusing a long time ago.

Balagog was nowhere to be found. He must have gone down to the lake as he did every morning. Just as well. Gerda's memory of last night was a bit… hazy, but she remembered that she got drunk. Very, very drunk. Waking up in his bed just confirmed it. She guiltily wondered if he slept at all.

When she arrived in the common room, she found she was in luck. The noise came from Ma'dran and his caravan.

"Aah, welcome," Ma'dran greeted her as soon as he saw her. "This one is pleased to see you, Dragonborn. It has been a long time on the road."

"Good day, Ma'dran," Gerda was impatient to get some clothes. Showing impatience would cost her a lot, but then, she could certainly afford it. "What have you got for sale?"

The Cat's greedy eyes shined brighter. "Take a look," he all but challenged her and invited her outside to check his wares.

As they were leaving, Gerda saw Hadring give her a strange look. As if he was surprised to see her alive and unharmed. Fultheim also raised his head to peer at her suspiciously.

Well, whatever was going through their heads, they could keep their opinions to themselves. If this was about what she thought it was about – namely her sleep-over in Balagog's bed – she definitely did not need or want to hear it.

Ma'dran led her outside. Other members of the caravan could surely take care of matters at the Inn on their own. Hadring was too desperate for paying customers to refuse anyone passing through, even if they were Khajiit and so not to be trusted according to most locals.

Gerda took a good look at all his inventory. He had the usual assortment of overpriced weapons and armor of low quality, potions and poisons, untested scrolls, a discreet casket full of Moonsugar, some random books…

"Do you have any clothes?" This will cost her. A lot. Showing impatience and true need to a merchant, especially a Khajiit one.

"Clothes? Why yes, we do have some that would fit this noble lady." Damned cat was already trying to persuade her she needed his best (and most expensive) potato sacks. Next he'll probably try to sell her some… "We have Fine Clothes to highlight this lady's beautiful eyes."

'I knew it,' Gerda thought to herself as Ma'dran pulled a set of fine clothes seemingly out of nowhere. It was the female variation of the set that Balagog wore. Gerda couldn't help but smile a bit. That would be awkward.

"Do you have any other… Fine Clothes, some that are not in that particular style?" Better to show Ma'dran that she still wanted something expensive, rather than haggle over whether she as a Thane of almost every hold of Skyrim should wear noble dresses or if she was allowed to wear whatever she actually wanted to wear. Stupid titles. Sometimes she wondered why she actually got them. Oh, right, she was bored.

"Certainly," Ma'dran's whiskers twitched in a smile. Oh Gods, what now? "The lady shall be most pleased with Khajiit selection," and he pulled out a 'Maven dress'. Sigh.

Sure, it looked good, but that bitch Maven practically coined the style as her own.

Oh well, Gerda was never too picky when it came to dress styles. Also, it looked warm. Definitely better than this Forsworn 'Armor'.

After a bit of haggling, she managed to get it for 'only' 40 Gold.

The main business of the day completed, Gerda decided to take a look at the books, too. Maybe they'd have The Mirror. She noticed Balagog had Legend of Krately House in his room and wanted to show him one of her favorire books in return. They might spend a few evenings comparing notes and discussing literature - wasn't he supposed to be a writer? Hmm.

Then she noticed a simple book bound in blue leather. Uncommon Taste.

"Don't I know this from somewhere?" she muttered to herself.

"The lady surely must have heard about The Gourmet," Ma'dran commented excitedly. "There is talk among travelers that he is visiting somewhere in Skyrim. Many famous cooks came to Skyrim specifically to see him. Some even came from Elsweyr, just for the chance to meet him here."

"The Gourmet? I met a couple of people determined to risk their lives just to impress him. Who is he?"

"Ohh, no one knows that. No one knows even if it is even a man." Ma'dran grinned. "Could even be a Khajiit. All that is known is that The Gourmet is a legendary cook, who was chosen to prepare a meal for the Emperor himself!"

Famous cook. Secret identity. Hiding in Skyrim. Connection to the Emperor himself. There was something… something… She will have to think on it later, not under the sneaky, calculating gaze of a merchant.

"I'll take this one." If nothing else, she'll have a couple of recipes to try with Balagog.

Later in her room, Gerda changed into her new clothes and decided to study up on the recipes.

**_Uncommon Taste_**

**_by The Gourmet_**

She was a bit surprised to see an intro. It was a long time since she saw a book that had one. Definitely written by an expert.

It sounded… friendly. Polite, noble, yet with a passionate tone that hooked her in. Then something caught her attention.

_'Start here, and some day, you too can be a gourmet'._ The sentence hit her with the force of a warhammer.

It looked like she found out Balagog's secret after all.

-balablob-balablob-balablob-

When Balagog entered his room, the first thing he noticed was that Gerda sat in his chair. Reading Uncommon Taste.

"So…" she began without looking up.

Balagog closed his eyes, expecting the worst.

Gerda looked at him and smirked a bit, she so loved disappointing his worst expectations, "I had the privilege of tasting a meal from The Gourmet before the Emperor himself. I feel kind of special right now."

Balagog gaped at her, wrong-footed. But he didn't try to deny it. "Are you not angry? I deceived you. I lied to everyone in this Inn about who I am."

"Balagog," she rose to her feet and came closer to him. He tensed up. "I noticed something was off about you the first time we spoke. It never bothered me." She gave him a wry smile, "In fact, I tried to figure it out at first. But then I realized it did not matter." She took one of his hands into her own. "I enjoyed your company too much to play guardsman."

Balagog relaxed a bit. "You… don't mind that the famous Gourmet is an Orc?" he asked her, still a bit nervous. Gerda wondered what kind of bad experiences he had in his past.

"Did it ever look like I have a problem with your race?" she smiled at him.

"No, you haven't," he replied quietly. There was warmth in his voice she never heard before. He looked into her eyes and gently squeezed her hand in his own.

"So… why all the Cloak and Dagger? You will appear before the Emperor as yourself, won't you? His visit is the reason you're here, right?" she asked him.

Balagog pulled his hand out of hers and looked away, "It is too dangerous for me to be in the open…"

"Which is silly." She interrupted him pointedly. Then her voice gentled and she added, "I already destroyed the Dark Brotherhood. If there ever was a good time to reveal your identity, it would be now."

Balagog flinched and stared again. "You… you destroyed the Dark Brotherhood?" He stared at her with wide eyes. "The most famous assassin guild in all of Tamriel? When? How?"

Gerda blushed a little, "It was a few weeks back. I… got their attention, I guess. Then I got even more of it when I killed their leader, Astrid. Commander Maro gave me the password to their Sanctuary when I told him what happened." She shrugged her shoulders. "After that, it was a simple matter of killing them. For such a feared group, they actually had rather weak protections. Just a few fighters too used to being predators, who didn't ever expect to become prey. It was not even the hardest fight I've ever been in."

When Balagog still didn't reply, just stared at her, Gerda continued, "If anything, anonymity is more harmful to you right now. Should people know who The Gourmet is, the assassins cannot assume your identity. So what is the problem?"

Balagog turned away and went to sit on the edge of his bed. "It is not that simple." He refused to look at her.

Gerda sat next to him. She felt that if she let him withdraw now, she will never get that close to him again. "How so?"

"Several people learned of my… identity." He frowned. "The moment they knew who I was, they tried to get me in trouble with the law. Had I not have several… trusted individuals vouch for me, I'd probably end up in prison." He looked her in the eyes. "Anonymity to all but the Emperor was my only request. One that the Penitus Oculatus finally agreed to, after several months of bargaining." He sighed heavily. "I do not wish to risk revealing myself again."

Gerda put her hand on his shoulder, "Balagog…" She wished to persuade him to reveal himself, but she understood. Had she not spent most of her life hiding as well? For her, there was no difference between pretending she was a weak and gentle noblewoman looking for a husband to please her parents and between putting on the mask of a writer to preserve one's anonymity.

She did eventually take drastic measures to rid herself of her own mask, but it took her years to… prepare.

Gerda sighed next to him, "Very well. If you wish to keep your anonymity, I will not be the one to spoil it." She gave him a reassuring smile.

Balagog looked her in the eyes, then put his own hand on top of hers, "Thank you."

Then he seemed to notice her dress. "Fine clothes? Somehow, I expected armor."

"Oh, I usually wear armor," she grinned at him, glad that his gloomy mood was lifting, "But it is not very comfortable everyday wear." Then her grin got wider. She slipped her hand from his shoulder and put it right behind him on the bed, almost touching him. She leaned closer, until she spoke directly into his ear, "If you wish, I can dress in that again."

Balagog blushed as usual, but this time, he did not look away, "It… suits you."

Gerda all but snuggled into him, then put her head on his shoulder, "I guess I'll have to wear it more often, then." Her hand on the bed behind him rose of its own volition and she ended up hugging him around the waist.

There was one thing that made no sense to her, still. Why was he alone? He still had his clan name, so he was not cast out. Yet here he was, all alone in the middle of nowhere. Couldn't he bring someone along? She decided to ask him about it. "What about other Orcs? Would they not be proud to have the famous Gourmet come from their race?"

He smiled sadly, "Not quite. When Orcs look at me, they only see that I'm a writer. That I'm not a warrior. Not strong. To them, I'm a failure." His gaze turned distant, "All others see an Orc. Ironic, is it not? I wish it were the other way around."

Of course. Gerda remembered the Old Orc she met by the road. He was so desperate not to die old. To die as a warrior. Like all the other Orcs she met until now did. For them, there was nothing more important than physical strength and combat prowess. They would not welcome an intellectual among them. Balagog's life truly must be… lonely. She hugged him tighter.

Balagog put his own hand around her properly and with a sigh, laid his own head on top of hers, all but kissing the top of her head. This was much more open than his usual behavior, Gerda noticed. Seemed that since she knew his secret and was not trying to expose or blackamail him, he was much more willing to open up to her.

She definitely would not protest.

How long they stayed there, she had no idea. She wanted to kiss him, but was unwilling to break this moment; not even for that.

There will be time for it later, she told herself and snuggled closer still. She felt him smile into her hair and felt at peace.


	6. Chapter 6

Something changed between them. There was more trust and peace than before. As they sat by the lake the next day, Gerda did and said nothing; she simply enjoyed companionable silence between them.

She occasionally felt Balagog's eyes on her. She wore her Forsworn armor again - something he should have been used to by now. Only it seemed that now she accepted him even after she found out his secret, he was much more willing to think about them in… that way.

Gerda tried to catch him looking, but he always looked away before their eyes could meet.

This silly game continued on for some time. She was almost certain now that Balagog was a virgin. She hadn't played a game like this in… years. It was surprisingly refreshing.

Balagog eventually interrupted their silence to ask her the one questions no one else in Skyrim ever bothered to ask, as if it didn't matter at all. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you are not local either. How did you end up in Skyrim?"

"I got lost." She answered with a grin. At his raised eyebrow, she explained, "I was exploring the Jerall Mountains, specifically one little known cave that I heard strange rumours about. It was extremely long, but I thought nothing of it at the time," Gerda sighed. "When I finally got out, I noticed that the country seemed different, but didn't pay it much attention. I thought I found some hidden valley… that I was still in Cyrodiil," With a snort, she continued, "Obviously not. I have crossed the border to Skyrim…"

Balagog interrupted her, "That is usually considered a minor crime, doubly so during the time of war. Did you get into trouble for it?"

Gerda agreed, "Sure did. The moment I started exploring, I ran into a group of Nords in blue armor. They weren't especially friendly, but they were obviously no bandits. We barely exchanged greetings, when we were set upon by the Imperials."

"Did you fight them?"

"No, just stood there waiting to see how it will turn out. That obviously wasn't good enough for some young Imperial overachiever, for he attacked me." She stared gloomily at the lake. "I tried to talk, yet in the heat of the battle, no one was listening. Someone must have noticed our 'fight' and decided to help my attacker by knocking me out. I woke up in the wagon amongst other prisoners. And Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak himself."

She sighed heavily. "Ironically, it was the dragon attack that saved me. In their zeal to execute Ulfric Stormcloak, my life didn't matter to them. I was to be killed. No questions asked."

Balagog noticed she seemed troubled, yet by something different, more than what her tale implied, "Is something wrong?"

"I only wonder two things - where have all my supplies and armor disappeared to and who exactly undressed me to put those prison rags on me." She gave him a sad smile. "Seems like such a small thing to worry about, all things considered. Still, there were… personal items among them. Also, call me a prude, but no one but my parents, lover or healer should ever see me naked."

Balagog's eyes flicked down to her breasts in the Forsworn armor.

Gerda couldn't resist teasing him a bit, "Forsworn armor is still armor, my friend. But I admit it reveals more than it conceals. Maybe it's a distraction strategy?" she smirked. "Definitely seems to distract you."

Balagog finally gave up on their little eye game and gave her a heated look. "Yes, it does."

'Mmm, flirting. I must have done something right,' she thought to herself.

"What about you, Balagog? Where are you from?"

He turned his face away and stared at the lake, "I was raised in High Rock, mostly by my old friend Anton. His family took me in after my own decided they wanted nothing to do with me, once I refused to become a warrior." He smiled bitterly, "But, if it matters, I was born in Leyawiin."

"Really?" Gerda asked, surprised. "So was I. Hmm, I wonder if we've ever met before."

Balagog gave her a curious look. "Perhaps. It depends on if you ever explored beyond the city walls. My family only had a small shack close by."

Gerda only gave a small shrug and said sadly, "Not often. I was too busy pretending to be the perfect daughter." Then she grinned mischievously, "Aside from the times when I borrowed grandfather's sword and shield and trained with young guardsmen where my parent couldn't see me."

Balagog gave a surprised laugh, "I think I heard about you. The noblemen's wild child. Did they call you 'Power Bash'?"

Gerda blushed and laughed, "They did. And they still do!" With a smile, she added, "At least old Arrinis still does. He still sometimes sends me letters. I have no idea how they even reach me since this country is at war, but he somehow manages it." She was still curious about one thing, "How did you get to know a family from High Rock?"

Balagog grinned, "I cooked them a meal." He relaxed against a pillar and continued, "Anton's family came to visit Leyawiin, but were robbed on the way by bandits. The guards refused them entry into the city without documents proving who they were. My father wanted to prove that he too could be noble, especially when the humans refused to. So he invited them to stay the night." Balagog snorted. "Then he had nothing to offer them aside from a straw bed full of fleas."

Gerda leaned in closer to him and listened. She may have lived in Leyawiin her whole life, but now she felt she did not know the life there at all. She never even knew there were people living outside the city walls.

Balagog continued, "I decided to ignore his protests about 'women's work' and cooked them a simple meal from what we had at home. They… recognized my talent. The Virane's offered to take me with them to the university at High Rock and cover all costs." He sighed. "My father was furious. He wanted me to start my training, despite the fact that I never wished to become a warrior. We… argued. I decided to leave with the Viranes…" Balagog added in a whisper, "After that, I was no longer welcome home."

Gerda did not know what to say. In some ways, his story was very similar to her own - the main difference was that Balagog seemed to have loved his parents while she never did love hers.

"Have you ever tried? To return to them, I mean," she said quietly.

"No, I have not. When Orcs give their word, they do not change it even if they want to. Such is the way of Malacath and one my Father espoused my entire childhood. He would not even greet me, if we met again."

"I'm sorry." Gerda said to him in a gentle voice. She wanted to make him smile again so she tried to change topics, "But imagine this, had you stayed there, we might have known each other for years. Who knows, maybe we would have become friends years ago."

Balagog smiled a little and looked at her. "Yet now, we have met again years later, even after being separated by several provinces." He took her hand in his own. "Perhaps it is a sign." Something passed between them.

Gerda closed her eyes and leaned in to kiss him.

That was when they heard the dragon roar.

Gerda groaned. _Of all the times…_ One of the last rebel dragons who refused to listen to Paarthurnax's Way of the Voice chose this very moment to attack. If Gerda ever doubted that dragons were evil, this moment would tell her all she needed to know.

Reluctantly she withdrew.

Balagog stared at the sky with a frightened yet betrayed look. Gerda couldn't help but sigh sadly. Then their eyes met.

She gave him an apologetic look, "I think it would be best if you went back inside," she said gently. Then her eyes hardened as she looked at the sky, "I'll take care of this."

He gave her another heated look. That was not a reaction she was used to. Men either turned angry at the 'slight to their combat prowess' or they became ashamed of their 'weakness'. As if the fact they couldn't defeat dragons singlehandedly was something to be ashamed of.

Gerda never understood it. Everyone had something they were good at. Not everyone was fated to be a dragon slayer.

The Dragon roared again, much closer this time.

Balagog needed no further urging and took off for the Inn.

Gerda started thinking about her strategy. Usually when she faced dragons, she had her expertly crafted heavy armor to protect her. This Forsworn… thing was not protective enough even for those who preferred light armor. The only ones to fight in it were the half-suicidal Forsworn, who relied on magic to protect them anyways.

That will have to be her strategy tonight as well. Plus, there were other things she could use to her advantage, because this… this was a fight she couldn't fight alone. Not if she wanted to keep her life.

It was time to make use of Tsun's parting gift.

"HUN-KAAL-ZOOR!"

The ghostly spectre of Hakon One-Eye pulled out his battleaxe as soon as he appeared. One good thing about Nords - they were always spoiling for a fight; living or dead.

There were a few other things Gerda could do to turn the odds in her favor. She cast Ebonyflesh on herself, which unfortunately took almost all her available magicka, then searched for cover.

Gerda only hoped this dragon breathed frost, not fire, or the old wooden inn wouldn't stand a chance, despite the layer of snow on its roof.

The dragon stopped circling overhead and attacked.

"YOL-TOOR-SHUUL!" A river of flames burst out of its snout and aimed straight for Gerda.

She barely managed to jump aside. So it was a fire dragon after all. It was even more important for her not to run for cover too far away from the Inn; the Inns inhabitants wouldn't stand a chance if she did.

Her helper, Hakon, was bellowing fierce battlecries, but couldn't do much against a flying dragon with just his battleaxe.

It was time to get a weapon. The single iron dagger in her boot that she would never walk without wouldn't do much damage against those scales. Seeing she didn't have much choice, Gerda decided to swallow her disgust and use Conjuration.

The disturbing purple-blue light in her hand was cold - unnaturally so. The sound of reality ripping apart was as disturbing as ever. But when it was over, she held a glowing blue sword in her right hand. She also felt ready for another Shout. Now she only needed the dragon to fly a little closer.

The beast obliged. It flew in one place while gearing for another fire-breath shout.

Gerda was faster. "JOOR-ZAH-FRUUL!" Dragonrend slammed into the dragon at full force, right into the middle of its chest. The dragon gave a distressed roar and landed right next to the lake… In front of the Inn.

Gerda shook off her disgust at using that shout and ran behind the dragon. Better to draw its attention to her, rather than the wooden building behind them.

Now it was only a matter of jumping away from the wildly swinging tail, avoiding kicks from its powerful back legs and roars that shook the ground under her feet. With her attacking it from behind and Hakon attacking up front, the dragon was quickly weakening.

All was going well. But then the dragon took hold of Gerda's helper and ripped into him with its powerfull maw. Hakon gave it one last weak hit with his bare fist, then with a groan dissapeared back to Sovengarde.

The dragon turned its full attention to Gerda.

She could see that the hits already took their toll on the dragon. Its snout was covered in its own blood and the crazed pain in the dragon's eyes gave away its real state. It wasn't even able to fly anymore, even though Dragonrend stopped working a few hits back.

But it was still a dragon. And Gerda only wore Forsworn armor.

She was not ready to shout; not yet. Her magicka was almost completely depleted, even if her Ebonyflesh miraculously still held. A single sword, especially a conjured one, won't be of much help.

Gerda resigned herself to some grievous injuries and turned to attack the dragon from the side. As long as she didn't get hit with its fire breath or get ripped apart by its teeth, she will bring it down.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the doors to Nightgate open. She quickly turned her head with shock as she saw Balagog… with her Ebony Shield in hand.

"Gerda! Catch!" He shouted and threw the shield to her with all his strength.

Gerda easily caught the shield and smiled to herself. 'I love that man,' she thought. But that smile quickly turned to horror as she saw the dragon's tail swing at Balagog.

"TIID!" That one word of Slow Time shout that she was still not ready to use almost ripped her throat out, yet didn't offer enough time to kill the dragon. She only had enough of it to jump in front of Balagog and protect them both with the shield he just brought her.

The hit shook her badly and almost broke her arm. But Balagog was alive so she counted it a success.

The dragon turned its snout towards them. Gerda roared her own battlecry and attacked it with all she had.

She hit it with her shield and used her conjured sword to strike it one. Two. Three times. With a final dying roar, the dragon fell.

Gerda stood above the corpse panting. The dragon's soul rose up from its flesh in a fiery stream and flew straight for her. She knew it was useless to flee and let her own soul absorb it. 'Hmph, another kind of magicks to the mix.' She let the conjured blade disappear from her hand.

Ironically, it seemed absorbing the dragon soul helped. She felt the Become Ethereal shout in her mind… settle. She breathed out a sigh of relief. She'll give it a day or two, then she'll be ready to fight again.

Once the soul was completely absorbed, she turned back to Balagog.

He came down the steps and stared at her as if he never saw her before. His eyes slowly went to the pile of dragon scales and bones left behind after Gerda's soul was through absorbing it, then he turned back to her.

"It can't be… You… You took its very soul. Dragonborn," he said, shocked to the core.

She noticed her own ebony sword by the door. He must have planned to throw it to her too. He probably missed the Hero of Sovengarde, and her initial shouting, completely.

Gerda gave him a slightly puzzled look, "Of course. I thought everyone already knew that." Was it possible? She knew she didn't exactly mention it outright and that Balagog kept to himself, but he must have heard of it. Right?

Dismay passed through her. If he didn't know about this before… 'No. Please, no. Don't let this be the thing to chase him away.' He was fine with magic, he was fine with her warrior side and adventuring, with her miserable skills in all 'woman's work'. Will this be the thing that finally scared him off?

"I… I never… imagined," Balagog didn't know what to say. His shocked eyes didn't reveal much, "You are the Dragonborn? The one every passing bard sings about? The one who saved the world from Alduin? That is…"

Gerda only stood there in silence. There was nothing for her to say; if this was something Balagog couldn't accept, there was little she could do to change his mind. Even if she could, she refused to use her skills in persuasion to change his mind about the very core of her being. She was Dragonborn. That would never change. It was better to face it like a warrior and learn his honest opinion now.

But still it hurt. Just when they…

"Is it a problem?" her voice shook slightly, but she held her head high. 'Never back down,' her grandfather's motto reverberated inside her mind.

Balagog started and looked her in the eyes. Then he seemed to snap out of his shock, "Of course not." He smiled, "You saved us all. You saved the whole world. How could I be anything less than amazed?"

Gerda offered him a trembling smile. If she tried to say anything, she'd probably start crying. This day was just too much. First their almost-kiss, then the dragon attack, now this emotional trip through Oblivion. All she wanted was to get into Balagog's room again. To feel safe. To feel… cared for.

Balagog stepped up to her and gently laid his arm around her shoulders. Gerda gratefully leaned into him. They stayed there for a while. Gerda, leaning against Balagog, with her shield still clutched in her hands and Balagog with his arm around her shoulders, comforting her after a fight. 'I could get used to this,' Gerda thought to herself just as the door to the Inn opened and Hadring stepped out.

He took one look at the dragon bones and yelled, "Ye Gods, a dragon!" Then he ran up to them to take a closer look. Looked like he missed the entire fight.

Gerda couldn't help it and started laughing; she didn't even know why. She heard Balagog laugh quietly beside her.

They looked into each other's eyes, smiled and left together to sit by the common room's fire.

-balablob-balablob-balablob-

As the sun set that evening, Gerda felt restless for the first time in Balagog's presence. After their little meeting by the lake, they stayed together, yet did not continue from where they left off.

She wanted to kiss him. Badly.

But Balagog seemed uncertain of her now. She had no idea what caused it. He certainly looked honest when he said he was fine with her being the Dragonborn, so why…?

"Balagog?" Perhaps she should simply ask. The Warrior's way hasn't failed her yet.

"Hmm?" He looked at her, but she could not read the look in his eyes.

The fire crackled merrily behind them. Gerda was mindful of Fultheim in his little corner, drowning himself in drink as usual and Hadring up front by the counter, polishing mugs. Perhaps this was not the proper place to have this conversation.

"I… I want to ask you something. Something personal." Gerda looked around, then leaned closer to him, "Can we go talk in your room?"

"Ah… ehm, certainly." He seemed so hesitant. Why? Aside from a few comments, mostly about her own reputation and his wish to protect it in his gentlemanly way, he seemed fine with her visits until now.

They rose from the bench. As they went down the stairs to the cellar, Gerda felt both Fultheim and Hadring's eyes on them. Thankfully neither commented. That would be the last thing Gerda needed right now. She only hoped it would stay that way.

Once they arrived in Balagog's room, Gerda went to sit on the edge of his bed and patted the place next to her, inviting Balagog to join her there. He hesitated for a moment, then sat down next to her.

Gerda took a deep breath and asked, "Does it bother you that I'm the Dragonborn?"

Balagog startled and looked at her. "No, of course not…"

"So why do you keep turning away from me?"

Balagog looked away, then softly said, "You… you are… a legend. Why would… why do you want… me?" Balagog seemed to have problems expressing what he felt but Gerda understood. He was still uncertain about his race.

She thought they already discussed this, but perhaps some scars ran too deep.

She gently caressed his cheek. "I'm attracted to you, surely you noticed that?" She smiled at him.

He still seemed troubled. "But why?"

"Why is anyone attracted to another?" She asked him gently, "I cannot say. But I know one thing – when I'm with you, I'm at peace. For me, that is more important than anything else in this world."

Sitting so close to him, she felt him tremble slightly. She noticed her being this close was affecting him. Just as he affected her.

She continued in a low voice, "So tell me. Do you want me as well?"

Balagog finally turned to look at her. "Yes, Gerda. I do." Then he slowly leaned to her.

This was not Gerda's first kiss. But it definitely felt like it. Her lips trembled under his. She leaned into him even more and returned his kiss in full.

His tusks grazed her cheek, but instead of repulsing her, a wave of heat passed through her and she moaned into his mouth.

In that moment, she was grateful for her Forsworn armor. Nothing got in her way as she leaned even closer and turned fully towards him. Somehow she ended up sitting on his lap, kissing the hell out of him.

Balagog's breathing was growing heavy. He put his hands on her waist and kept distractedly moving them up and down her bare sides.

She raised her hand and moved it towards his ear. When she touched it, Balagog clutched her waist and growled into the kiss.

He pulled away. At least, he tried to. He didn't get very far with Gerda in his lap, her hand on his ear and her mouth all but glued to his. She looked him in the eyes; they were so dark they were almost black.

She moved her mouth to his jaw and gently bit him. Then she moved lower and started kissing and nibbling his neck.

"Gerda, wait," he moaned and tried to interrupt her progress. "We should t… talk about this."

Gerda bit him teasingly and felt him swallow back another moan. "Talk about what?" she asked and sat fully on his lap. She felt his manhood, fully erect, even through layers of clothing. His hands clutched her waist tighter. His eyes fluttered closed and he started blushing again.

"About… about us," he managed to get out. He had trouble speaking; his teeth were bared and he trembled as if he were close to coming already. Gerda remembered her earlier suspicions. She was more and more certain that he was a virgin. She'll have to take this slow.

"Yes?" she lifted her head and looked him in the eyes. She didn't remove her hand from his ear, though. Her fingers gently massaged the pointed tip. She felt him tremble harder.

"We… where is this going?" Balagog asked her in a strangely vulnerable voice. "What happens tomorrow? Do you wish to keep this… this between us going, or will you…" He swallowed heavily, "Tell me what tomorrow will bring, so I can better accept tonight."

Oh. Now she knew what he was asking. She slowly withdrew her hand from his ear.

Gerda hoped to avoid this. She might have already saved Skyrim from Alduin, but she was still bound to this country. Something kept her here; she could not leave this country if she wanted to. Yet Balagog would probably want to leave for Cyrodiil or High Rock or wherever it was that he lived now.

Could she move back to Cyrodiil if he asked her to?

"Balagog," she started. "I…"

Balagog closed his eyes and tried to turn away. Gerda wouldn't let him.

"No, it's not like that. Let me explain. Please," she begged him. "I do want you, for longer than one night. Much longer. As long as you'll want me, too." This was harder than she thought. "But I still have responsibilities in Skyrim that I just cannot abandon. There are people here who rely on me."

She snorted a bit, "They might not care if I leave for several weeks on end to go adventuring, but the Companions would not be happy if their Harbinger moved into another province entirely. Would probably cause a riot."

Balagog startled. "You.. are the Harbinger? Of Companions? I… I had no idea…"

Gerda was just as surprised. "You didn't know?" She laughed self-mockingly, "I'm sorry. I'm too used to people who immediately recognize me on sight. They also already know my position and accomplishments; I sometimes forget you are not from Skyrim." Then she frowned a bit. "Is it a problem?"

Balagog shook off his surprise, then he softly smiled at her, "No, of course not. I already knew you were a warrior and a legend." He caressed the scars on her cheeks. Gerda closed her eyes in pleasure. "I simply did not know how accomplished you were."

She smiled at him, then turned serious again.

"So…" Gerda had no idea how to ask him the things she wanted to ask. 'Would you be willing to stay in Skyrim with me?' 'Do you want this to last longer than a season's romance?' 'Do you care for me as much as I care for you?' They knew each other for less than a week, after all. How does one ask these things?

But Balagog surprised her. With an uncertain look he said, "I will stay in Skyrim for several months. Will… Do you want to…"

"Yes." Gerda couldn't agree fast enough. "I want to… yes." She suddenly had an idea, "You know, if you want to keep your anonymity, you could stay at one of my houses. The only people there are my Housecarls, who are sworn to me and will keep my… and your secrets."

"Your Housecarls?" Balagog stared at her, once again, "Are you also a Jarl? Or a Thane?"

Gerda chuckled self-consciously, "Yes, I am actually a Thane of… um… seven holds?" She noticed his wide eyed look and somehow felt the need to defend herself, "I simply did a few tasks for the Jarls and they named me a Thane of their Hold. It was nothing special."

Balagog gave her a look and chuckled, "It seems there are many things I do not know about you yet. You are a noble still, then." He gave her a boyish grin, "I still believe that armor suits you better."

Gerda grinned and caressed his jaw, then added in a teasing tone, "Admit it, you simply like to see me in this fur underwear."

Balagog blushed with a small smile. Then he hesitantly whispered, "I believe I'd prefer to see you without it," and leaned to kiss her again. Gerda shivered pleasantly and returned his kiss.

One of his hands rose up and tangled in her hair. Gerda was just glad she wore it free… and that no dragon managed to burn it yet.

She kissed him passionately. She noticed how he moaned faintly every time she gently bit his lower lips and touched his ear. Her other hand decided to explore him further.

She gently opened his fur cape and laid it aside. As she started to open the clasps on the front of his clothes, Balagog tore his mouth away with a gasp and stared at her with eyes clouded with lust. The hand on her waist started caressing her again. He looked down as she opened his clothes to skim her hands down his lightly muscled torso. She heard him start to purr and saw how he closed his eyes in pleasure.

"You can touch me as well, you know," she leaned in and whispered into his ear. She heard him swallow, then his hands shakily rose to touch the clasps on her breast bindings.

When he pulled the top part of her armor away, she was close to purring herself. Balagog nuzzled her neck and gently took hold of one of her breasts. She moaned faintly as his fingers gently touched her nipple.

She pulled his clothes away, then carelessly threw them somewhere behind the bed. As she started undoing the laces on Balagog's trousers, he groaned and all but fell over onto the bed.

Gerda quickly discarded the rest of their clothing, then moved back on top of him. He stared at her with his beautiful stormy eyes, completely open and vulnerable. Gerda decided that from now on, she'll only want to have those eyes look at her with trust.

She kissed him again. Balagog took her face in his hands and kissed her back as if his life depended on it.

Gerda pulled him back up into a sitting position, then reached down to guide him inside her, still kissing him.

Balagog groaned into their kiss as she started to move on top of him. One of his hands slipped back into her hair, the other clutched her waist. Gerda put her hands on his wide shoulders and increased her pace.

"Gerda," he moaned breathlessly. She looked into his eyes and saw he was close to coming.

She did not know what possessed her to do it. If anyone asked her later, she would not be able to explain it. Once she felt the pressure inside her increase and she knew she was close to coming herself, she leaned over him. As the first wave of incredible heat passed through her, she opened her mouth and bit down hard on Balagog's shoulder.

He shouted in surprise, grabbed her hips with both hands and drove into her as deep as he could. She felt him release inside her and all but purred in satisfaction.

Balagog fell over onto the bed in exhaustion and Gerda followed him down. She lifted her head and looked at her handiwork.

Even on his dark skin, her teeth marks were clearly visible – Balagog will have a big, teeth shaped bruise on his shoulder for a while. Gerda blushed. "I… I'm sorry. I don't know why…"

Balagog smiled contentedly and caressed her face with a shaky hand. "No need to apologize. I liked it." He leaned in closer and kissed her.

Well, as long as he was fine with it… Gerda was glad to have found something that pleased him.

She nestled closer and threw one leg over him. Balagog put his arm around her.

She lovingly touched his new marks with her lips and felt him twitch against her thigh. She smiled. She couldn't wait to have him again. Next time, it was his turn to be on top.

But for now, all they both wanted was rest.

**A/N:** Err… Gerda takes being the Dragonborn a bit too seriously. Also, Orcs are not the only territorial race – Dragons are too.


	7. Chapter 7

Waking up was… interesting, to say the least.

When Gerda opened her eyes, she took in their clothes strewn all around the room, the fur blankets carelessly thrown over both of them... and Balagog laying beside her, with his head pillowed on her arm. 'Shouldn't it be the other way around?' she thought to herself with a small smile. She snuggled closer still and with her other hand, the one not under Balagog's head, she caressed his face.

This morning, she felt different; she felt…

She was content.

But there was still that little niggling doubt at the back of her mind that something was supposed to happen. That something will happen soon.

She kissed Balagog on the forehead and caressed his ear. He trembled, then his eyes slowly opened. He lifted his head and looked confusedly around the room, as if he had no idea where he was. She found his expression adorable. Once his eyes cleared, he looked her in the eyes and gave her a beautiful smile. She smiled right back.

Neither of them wished to move or speak. Gerda gently pulled his head to her and rose up to meet him halfway. Their lips touched softly, lovingly. She couldn't get enough of his kisses.

It was decided. Wherever life will bring them, she will stay with him – in Skyrim or some other province, she did not care. She was definitely strong enough to make a life for herself, for them both, wherever she pleased. She refused to give this up.

That's when they heard a quiet noise. It was the sound of a wooden door creaking open and the distant howling of the wind.

Strange. Who would enter Nightgate's cellar through the small back door, when they could easily reach it through the comfortable stairs from the common room? Definitely not Hadring, nor Fultheim. Gerda felt a sudden shiver of unease run down her spine.

They exchanged a look, then Balagog slowly rose up and put on his pants to go take a closer look. Gerda sat up on their bed, still feeling that something was not right. She rose up and put on her Forsworn armor.

"Please, mister, can you come with me? I can't find my parents anywhere," came the soft, low child's voice from further inside the cellar. It sounded… wrong. Not nearly as innocent as it should have been. Gerda distractedly picked up her shield.

Balagog must have felt something was off as well, for when he spoke, his voice trembled a little, "I can't help you, friend. Talk to Hadring, the innkeeper."

"Please, it's just a bit away. I beg you, help me find my mommy," the child's voice was growing… impatient.

Gerda did not entirely know why, but she decided to check their positions first, before she announced her presence by leaving the room. She prepared herself and cast Detect Life.

The cellar had only one living presence.

Her eyes widened. She sprinted out of the room.

The… monster with a child's face next to Balagog turned its orange eyes towards her. It sneered and pulled out an Ebony Dagger dripping with a poison. Balagog backed away in fear, but thankfully, the assassin's attention turned towards Gerda.

"TIID!"

The whole world around them slowed. The creature might have been fast, but now, so was Gerda.

She raised her shield and sprinted towards the vampire as fast as she could. The girl tried to jump aside, but Gerda clipped her in the shoulder. That single hit was enough to send the small body flying into the wall. Before the vampire could find her balance, Gerda jumped on her and punched her in the face as hard as she could. Then she punched her again and again until heard the bones crack under her fist.

The creature gave one last pained growl, then the body under her burst to dust.

Panting, Gerda rose up and turned to Balagog, "Are you all right?"

He stared at the dusty clothes lying on the ground and managed to stutter out, "I... yes. I'm fine. Thank you. That… That was a…"

"A vampire, yes." Gerda frowned down at the dusty clothes under her feet. She crouched down and started digging around in the dust.

"What are you doing?" Balagog asked her, still shocked from the unexpected attack.

"This doesn't seem like a normal vampire attack. If it was, the beast would not care about whether someone found our bodies or not." Gerda looked up at him. "Yet it tried to lead you away. It also seemed to have known that there will be someone in here."

She turned her attention back to the dust she was examining. "Do you not find it strange? How did the vampire even know that someone, anyone will be in this cellar?"

Balagog had no answer to that. He came closer and crouched down beside her.

Gerda found a small satchel. Inside were various items – several potent poisons, nightshade and a letter.

Gerda opened the letter.

_Amaund Motierre's pleas to our Mother were heard. Go and kill The Gourmet as Sithis commands. You are then to take his Writ of Passage and give it to the Dark Brotherhood Innitiate in Dawnstar._

_He shall make sure that the Emperor remembers the dinner for the rest of his life._

_So begins a contract, bound in blood._

_Keeper Cicero_

On the other side of the contract was a small note:

_Dearest sister Babette,_

_Should you wish to feel our Mother's embrace again, come visit her in our old home and remember to speak of 'Innocence, my brother'._

_Keeper Cicero_

A cold smile crossed her face. Looked like they struck gold. Both the information about the contract giver and what seemed to be the password to second Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary, most probably located in Dawnstar, where 'everyone knows about the Black Door and never to go near it.' Perfect. The Divines were smiling on her today.

Then she fully registered the other important piece of information.

"Motierre… Isn't that the name of the Elder Council member that is staying over at the Bannered Mare?" Gerda asked incredulously.

Balagog shook himself and tried to pay attention to the letter as well. "Yes, I heard about him. He was dismissed from the Elder Council last year. Officially for his dealings with pirates that attacked East Empire Company shipments, but many said it was for his dealings with the Thalmor. " He snorted and added in a disgusted voice, "There were even rumors he sold information about Imperial troops to the Thalmor during the Great War."

"So, someone with a motive to harm the Emperor, then. A Thalmor ally no less." Gerda murmured thoughtfully.

Balagog nodded tiredly, "You will need to warn the Penitus Oculatus."

"What about you?" She asked, concerned.

"I… I'll stay here. As I am supposed to." Balagog said in a shaking voice.

Gerda stared at him incredulously, "You can't be serious. That's suicide!" She could not believe her ears. Why would he do something like that?

"What choice do I have?" Balagog moved towards the wine barrels. He leaned against one and continued, "We never made any plans about what I should do in a situation like this. The only time I'm supposed to contact them is when they summon me to cook for the Emperor. Not a day sooner. Otherwise they will know it to be a trap and arrest me, at the very least." He snorted bitterly, "They probably never counted on the possibility that I would survive an attack."

"Balagog…" Gerda stood up as well and reached for him. She definitely couldn't leave like this. Couldn't leave him to go on a fool's errand when his life was in danger.

"I cannot even leave Skyrim. If I leave, the Penitus Oculatus might decide I had something to do with the Dark Brotherhood plans." He closed his eyes and continued, "You already killed members of the Dark Brotherhood once. Commander Maro must trust you. You must go and warn him, for the Emperor's life is still in danger."

"I don't care about the Emperor, I care about you!" Gerda said forcefully.

This shocked them both. Balagog stayed silent, but his eyes… in his eyes, she found a light she wanted to watch for the rest of her life. Neither of them said a thing for a while.

Balagog recovered first. "I… I care… about you as well," he saw Gerda move closer to him, so he quickly continued, "but Commander Maro needs to know about this. We cannot in good conscience postpone the search for the Emperor's assassins to save a simple cook, no matter how famous."

Gerda's shoulders slumped. She still wasn't willing to abandon him to chase ghosts, though.

"Maybe we could travel together for a while then." That got his attention, so she continued, "Your anonymity is obviously blown, if they found you here. The Dark Brotherhood didn't give up on the contract despite the massacre of their Sanctuary." She began pacing up and down the cellar. "Commander Maro needs to know, so he can prepare better safety measures. We will get you in Castle Dour and then I will follow clues from the letter." She gave him a look and added, "If he truly trusts me as you say then he will accept my word on who you are and reasons for your stay in Solitude."

Gerda wasn't too happy with her own plan, but it would have to do. Leaving Balagog at Castle Dour will not be ideal, but it will be much safer for him there than here, in the middle of nowhere with no contact to the outside world. It will also mean the Dark Brotherhood cannot assume his identity, as it will be known to the Penitus Oculatus by then.

"What about…" Balagog started uncertainly, "What about my anonymity? Solitude is a big city and I cannot stay inside the Castle's walls the entire time."

Gerda sighed and turned to him, "Balagog…" she looked closely at him and saw fear in his eyes. She knew that if she pressed, she could persuade him to reveal himself, but did she truly want to do that to him?

Another thought crossed her mind. "You could stay at my house."

Balagog started. "But… that would…"

"That would show everyone that you are my lover, yes. Which is the truth." She saw him start to protest, so she quickly continued, "Commander Maro will learn who you are, so the Dark Brotherhood cannot assume your identity. My Housecarl Jordis can act as your bodyguard for the time being. You will be safe and I can go deal with the assassins."

"Gerda," he moved closer to her, "are you not worried what people will say? You are the city's Thane and I… I'm…"

She put her hands on his waist, "You are my lover," she said simply and kissed him.

Balagog melted under her touch. He put his hands around her shoulders and deepened their kiss. "Gerda…" he said breathlessly after they parted.

Gerda smiled at him and gently ran her hand over his backside. She heard him growl softly.

"Shall we… take this back to your room?" she whispered and licked his earlobe.

"What about the…"

"Everything else can wait." She took his hand and led him back to his room. He was already breathing heavily. Once inside the room, she turned back to him. He was staring at her with hunger in his eyes. This time he needed no prompting and kissed her passionately.

They did not make it as far as the bed. Balagog grabbed her around the waist and pushed her against the fur covered wall by the door. Gerda grinned. He learned fast.

Gerda was too excited to take this slow. She opened his trousers and slid her hand inside. Balagog growled and started fiercely kissing her neck. One of his hands slipped down and pushed aside her armor.

With a moan, she pulled him out of his trousers, then threw her leg over his hips.

Balagog needed to further urging and hooked her leg over his arm. He gently pushed into her.

Gerda looked at him and saw how strenuously he controlled himself. She decided she couldn't wait. She flexed her leg and pulled him closer. Balagog shouted in surprise, then thrust inside her as far as he could go.

He lifted his head and looked her in the eyes. She caressed his face and kissed him. With a soft moan, he started moving.

She could not stop touching him everywhere she could reach. With every caress, she heard his growl grow louder. She could feel the heat building up in her belly. At her breathless urging, he picked up his pace.

She came with a shout. Dimly, she heard Balagog howl as her inner muscles contracted around him. She felt liquid heat fill her, then slowly run down her thigh.

They stayed in that position for some time, breathing heavily. After a while, he gently withdrew from her and she put her leg back on the ground, but still stayed close, embracing him. Balagog kept kissing her neck.

Eventually, they had to part. She gave him one last long parting kiss, then by mutual agreement, they righted their clothes and went to pack.

It was time to leave Nightgate.


	8. Chapter 8

"Hadring, there was a vampire attack in the cellar." Gerda started without preamble. "You might wish to go sweep it up."

"What?" Hadring's mouth fell open. "Vampire? When? _What was it doing here_?"

Gerda gave him a look, "Maybe it was attracted to the name and went to check it out. Nightgate? Must sound good to Vampires, right?"

Hadring stared at her, "You know, you may be right. I guess I'll have to change the name…"

"Hadring," Gerda didn't know if whether she should laugh or cry. That's what she got for trying to joke with Nords. "It tried to kill us. Suck our blood. You know, the things Vampires usually do when they attack people?" She refused to mention anything about the Dark Brotherhood. Hadring probably wouldn't be able to stop himself and would tell it to everyone who passed through Nightgate.

"Gods, Vampires attacked here?" Hadring exclaimed.

Gerda had no idea if he was acting, or if he really was so slow. "Yes, one did." When she saw Hadring gear himself for a panic attack, she added. "I killed it. You may wish to sweep the dust away."

Fultheim started cackling in his corner. "So? Did you get infected?" He asked uncaringly and took a long drink from his tankard.

Hadring's eyes widened. "Oh, Gods, did you?" He looked wildly about, "How does one recognize a vampire? What if the Orc already is one?"

'Hmm, this… might actually be useful' Gerda thought and loudly exclaimed, "You know what, Hadring? You are right. We cannot be sure. I'll have to bring him to a temple." She gave Hadring a charming smile. "So we better start packing, right? No sense wasting time."

"Yes, yes, of course." Hadring agreed readily enough.

Gerda sighed to herself and went to her room. If this is what Balagog faced for several months before she arrived, she wondered how he was still sane. Most probably by keeping to himself. Well, at least no one figured out his little secret.

She looked around the room. Funny, she spent a week here yet almost all her things were still in her bags. The only thing 'out' was her armor, which she'll soon put on and some books. Compared to this, Balagog's room was almost a home away from home. She wondered what his room will look like once he packs all his things up.

Gerda dressed back in her Ebony Armor. She felt strangely energetic, even after a dragon fight and a night of amazing sex. Or maybe because of it? Absorbing that dragon soul definitely helped.

Once she was ready, she checked her map for the best route to Solitude.

Hmm. They could either take the long 'scenic' road through Whiterun, Rorikstead and Dragonbridge, or the shorter but deadlier route through Dawnstar and the Marsh. She'll either deal with the Dark Brotherhood or with the Contractor.

So, Whiterun or Dawnstar?

She sighed. Usually, she took the shortest possible way to her goal, no matter how dangerous. This time, however, she will have to take Balagog into consideration. He was an amazingly talented man, but he was no warrior.

Whiterun it was then. They will arrest the turncoat Elder Council member… and they can also hand him over to the Penitus Oculatus on the way.

Hah, perhaps Balagog will not need to hide at all. Once the Dark Brotherhood learns that their 'customer' was arrested and there is no one left to pay them, they might give up on this contract. Assassins they might be, but from what Gerda saw and read when she destroyed their Falkreath Sanctuary, they were also businessmen.

-balablob-balablob-balablob-

'It sure looks empty now.' Gerda thought as she entered Balagog's room to check on his progress.

Balagog startled and stared at her in shock. At first, Gerda did not understand what the deal was… then she took off her helmet.

Balagog laughed, relieved. "Hello, love. I did not expect to see you in… that."

"Ah… I… er," Gerda stuttered. Usually, she'd say something flirty or flippant. But… Balagog called her _love_. For some reason, it shocked her to the core. He didn't seem to be aware of what he said, either. He said it as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

He raised his eyebrow at her, when she failed to answer. He stepped up to her and gently kissed her. "You are still beautiful, even in Heavy Armor." He smiled gently.

Gerda grabbed him around the waist and kissed him passionately. If she didn't have this armor on and if they didn't need to leave as soon as possible…

With a sigh of regret, she ended the kiss and stepped away.

Balagog coughed a bit, then with a small blush went to check one last time if he had everything.

He picked his bags.

Gerda thought about their upcoming journey. There will be time for… that, later. If there won't be, she'll make some. Definitely. She said to Balagog matter-of-factly, "Oh, and, if anyone asks, we're headed for the temple."

Balagog stumbled and looked at her incredulously.

Gerda realized what she just said and blushed so hard she swore her very hair turned red. She quickly added, "Of Kynareth. To heal Vampire bites."

"Oh," Balagog looked away. "Yes, of course. As you wish."

Gerda was glad he let it go. Yet now that she thought about it, she couldn't get the thought out of her head.

Marriage.

To Balagog.

Damn, it was too soon. Way too soon. They only knew each other for a week!

She remembered her earlier thoughts about sex without marriage. She definitely could have her Balagog and keep her freedom, too.

Only… as she looked at him, she was not so certain that freedom was what she really wanted.

-balablob-balablob-balablob-

The road was long, cold and dangerous. Bitter-cold wind howled around them and wolves tried to take bites out of them.

So. Business as usual.

Gerda was used to Skyrim and it's crazy weather, but it seemed Balagog was not so well equipped to handle wilderness as she was. As she looked at his half-frozen state, she wanted to offer her Forsworn armor to him, so he can put it under his clothes and keep himself warm. Then she had to bite a lip, as she imagined Balagog dressed in that crazy bit of fur.

They left Nightgate quickly. Despite the fact that he lost his only long-term tenants, Hadring seemed happy to see them go. Probably still scared of them turning into Vampires and feeding on him rather than his awful cooking.

Fultheim was passed away drunk in a corner. Just as well.

They both breathed a sigh of relief when the weather turned warmer. Balagog stayed quiet beside her, even after the cold stopped beating him down. So did Gerda, as she was still thinking about possibly marrying Balagog.

Soon enough, they passed guards on the road, who merrily greeted her as their Thane and the Harbinger. They also cast suspicious looks at Balagog.

It only made Gerda want to give Balagog a claiming kiss right in front of them. She never noticed before how the guards treated other races. Now she understood Balagog's cautiousness and disbelief about their relationship a bit better, if this was what he faced every time he stepped into a city.

She couldn't wait to get inside Breezehome and... hmm… welcome Balagog properly. She grinned.

Once they arrived in Whiterun, Gerda all but dragged Balagog to her house.

"Honored to see you again, my… Thane," Lydia greeted them as soon as they stepped inside Breezehome. She looked as if she considered asking Balagog if he was lost, if it were not for the fact that Gerda held his hand. Now it seemed she had no idea how to react.

Gerda gestured at him, "This is Balagog, my lover."

Lydia's eyes almost fell out of her head.

Gerda only lifted her eyebrows at her, then continued, "We will stay here for the night. Please treat him as an honored guest." Then she added with a little frown, "I have some matters I must take care of. I'll return in a few hours."

"Of… of course, my Thane," Lydia still stared at Balagog as if she never saw a man before.

Balagog himself looked ready to run. He wouldn't meet their eyes and kept staring at the floor.

Gerda turned to him and gently lifted his chin. She heard Lydia gasp behind her, but ignored it. "I need to… follow the clues from the letter. The sooner the better, before someone warns him and he flees. But I promise, I'll be back as soon as that business is dealt with. Please, make yourself at home… my love."

Balagog gave her a trembling smile. "I will wait for you here."

Gerda leaned in and gave him a kiss. When she withdrew from him, she saw Lydia's flabbergasted face out of the corner of her eyes. She did not have the time to deal with this right now. As long as Balagog was safe and sound, she needed to deal with the Emperor's true assassin first.

Gerda turned to Lydia, "Will this be a problem?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Lydia shook herself, "N…no, of course not, my Thane." She swallowed heavily. "I am your sword and your shield," she said with a small bow. But she still cast Balagog furtive glances as if she had no idea what to do in a situation like this.

"Good. I'll be back soon." Gerda squeezed Balagog's hand one last time and left Breezehome.

Hopefully they'll both still be alive when she returns. She believed that Lydia will behave, no matter what she might think about them. She was too… professional to do anything else.

Gerda breathed in the city's evening air. It smelled of stale ale and vomit. She was reminded once again why she preferred the wilderness. She missed that lake by Nightagate Inn already.

No matter, she had business to attend to. Maybe she'll involve the Companions, to give her mission a more official appearance…

-balablob-balablob-balablob-

When she stepped back into Breezehome a few hours later, the first thing she noticed was the delightful smell.

Balagog cooked again. She only hoped they left something for her as well.

She found Balagog and Lydia seated by the fire, chatting. The flash of jealousy she felt was unexpected. After all, this was exactly what she was hoping for – for Balagog to find acceptance in her home.

Yet all she wanted was to pull off his clothes and kiss her teeth marks on his shoulder.

Gerda shook herself and went to join them. Balagog lifted his head with a smile as soon as he saw her approach. "We were waiting for you, love." He gestured towards a bowl of stew. "I… made something for you to eat."

"Thank you, Balagog," she stepped up to him with a grateful smile, then sat by the fire to eat her dinner.

"You'll be pleased to learn that everything went well." Gerda said after a few delicious spoonfuls. She cast a quick look at Lydia and decided to open up about their quest, since it will surely be known all across Tamriel by the next day. "Amaund Motierre was arrested for ordering the assassination of our Emperor. He will be escorted to Dragon Bridge, then to Solitude for his execution."

Lydia gasped, "Assassination of the Emperor? Why…? How…?"

She shrugged. What did she care about the reasons of a traitor? Killing one's leader was wrong. But to order an assassination instead of facing them openly was even downright heinous.

"How did you learn about this plot, my Thane?" Lydia asked her in astonishment.

Gerda smirked at her, "He chose the wrong target." She looked over at Balagog possessively.

He gave her a warm smile.

After several hours, Gerda stood up. It was time to sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day.

As she stretched, she noticed that Balagog looked unsure and almost embarrassed. Gerda didn't see why. What could he be embarrassed about? It was such a normal evening. They ate delicious dinner, he made friends with her Housecarl, now it was time to… oh.

Gerda smiled a bit. Of course he will sleep with her, in her bed. Not only was it the only free bed-space, he was also her lover; something she refused to hide. She extended her hand towards him.

He threw a quick glance over at Lydia, then hesitantly accepted.

Lydia pretended very hard that she did not see them.

This attitude towards Balagog was really starting to annoy Gerda. But Lydia at least made no comment.

As they laid down to sleep, Gerda gently took Balagog's hand in her own. "Are you ready for tomorrow?"

"To escort Motierre to Dragonbridge?" he asked quietly. "Are you certain I should join you? The Penitus Oculatus will trust you even if I am not there."

"True, but I do not wish to leave you alone here." She frowned a bit. "Commander Maro at least should learn of your identity. It will definitely close all possible attempts to steal your identity, if Maro knows who you are."

Balagog sighed, "He probably already knows and is only using my anonymity to draw out potential assassins. He will not be pleased to learn we spoiled his plans."

Gerda snuggled closer to him, "I would not be pleased to have my lover murdered to gain some advantage over assassins. Maro will just have to deal." She leaned in and kissed him. She meant it to be a simple good night kiss, but Balagog laid his hand on her cheek and deepened their contact.

"Gerda, I…" Balagog started breathlessly once they parted. He swallowed, "I wish to… mark you."

Gerda lifted her eyebrows in surprise. Then she smiled sardonically, "Like I marked you?" She touched his cheek gently. Balagog closed his eyes.

"Only… when I… do it with my… teeth," he tried to explain. He need not have bothered. Gerda understood. Both his spoken and unspoken request.

This will be permanent. Binding.

They only knew each other for a week or so. Yet she felt more than ready. She never felt as connected to another being as she did with Balagog. She would not give it up. Somehow, she felt that a bond with Balagog will not tie her down, rather it will set her free to be herself.

She looked him in the eyes. Nodded.

As she leaned down to kiss him again, Gerda felt…right.

-balablob-balablob-balablob-

"Father, you worry too much. I'll be fine," came the bored sounding voice of a young imperial soldier.

Commander Maro frowned. "I know you will. But at the same time, remember everything I said. Stay alert, and…" He noticed the large group coming towards them.

They must have made a strange sight. The Dragonborn in Ebony Armor, an unknown Orc in Fine Clothes, two bulky Companions and several Nords in Whiterun guard armor dragging along a bound and seething Imperial Councilor.

Both the Imperials and the young girl with them stared.

"What is the meaning of this?" Maro asked sternly. "Why do you have an Imperial Councilor bound? Explain yourself!"

"Ex-Imperial Councilor," Gerda corrected him dryly. "One who ordered the Emperor's assassination."

"What?" Maro's eyes almost fell out of his head. "Do you have any proof of this?"

With a grin, Gerda handed him the Contract letter and a crumpled letter to the "Most Esteemed Overseer" in Motierre's own handwriting.

Maro took both documents with shaking hands.

Looked like the Dark Brotherhood's original plan was much longer and was only abandoned once Motierre heard about the destruction of their sanctuary. She especially liked the part where Motierre plotted the murder of Maro himself, or at least the murder of his people tasked with security. She glanced over at the young man. His son, perhaps?

Most of the steps outlined in the letter were not necessary, now that the Emperor's visit was assured. The only thing they needed was to impersonate the Gourmet…

Maro read the documents and his eyes widened even more. This letter, along with the Contract, was enough proof to earn Motierre his execution. When he reached the part where Motierre asked the assassins to 'meet with the high-ranking officer's people', he threw a hateful look at the traitor.

Once he read both the documents, he signaled his people to take the councilor away, then turned to Gerda, "How did you even learn about this plot? Where did you find these?" He waved the documents in this hands.

Gerda's eyes flicked towards Balagog, "The Dark Brotherhood tried to kill my lover." She gestured towards him. "The Contract letter was found in the assassins satchel. Motierre had the other one on his person."

"Your… your lover? But that would mean…" He stared at Balagog as if he never saw an Orc before. So did all the other men around them, including several Hjaalmarch guards standing around. The only one who didn't act as if Gerda was a champion of Sheogorath was the girl, Faida, who unsuccessfully tried to hide her grin behind her hand.

Gerda glanced over her shoulder. The Companions turned their eyes away. She had no idea about the guards' reactions - one could never tell when they wore those stupid helmets.

Balagog uncertainly approached Maro and handed over his Writ of Passage. Maro quickly got over his surprise and checked the document. He nodded to him.

Gerda nodded as well, then told Maro, "He will stay with me at Proudspire Manor, until the threat passes."

Maro lifted his eyebrows at her, "That could take years. The Dark Brotherhood doesn't give up easy, you know."

"I will deal with them, should the need arise." Gerda shrugged. "But you know what they say. 'The Dark Brotherhood never killed anyone.' Once the contractor is gone, the assassins have no reason to fulfill the contract."

Maro accepted her response, then crossed his hands behind his back, "Thank you once again, Dragonborn. You have done a great service for the Empire and will be appropriately rewarded." He watched as his officers finally dragged the Councilor away.

'Well, at least the traitor had enough dignity not to fight us once he was found out.' Gerda thought. 'The bandits could take some lessons from him on knowing when you've lost.'

Glad that this little drama was over with, Gerda thanked the Companions and the Whiterun Guards for their help. Or, their escort, at least. Now the only thing left for her and Balagog was to safely get to Solitude. Hopefully without any further interruptions, attempted robberies or assassinations.

Who knew, maybe they'll even get there in time for the wedding.

…

Vicci's wedding. Not hers. Not…

Dammit.

Gerda sighed to herself. She was doomed.


	9. Epilogue and Extras

**Epilogue**

_- Several Months Later -_

"Hello, love, how was your day?" Balagog asked her as soon as she stepped inside Proudspire Manor.

Gerda sat down tiredly at their table, "Oh, you know, the usual. Bandits, beasts, thieves, the occasional dragon flying away from me…" She pulled her Ebony Gauntlets off and grinned at him. "Poor beasts learned not to mess with me, and yet the Bandits still have not. Makes me wonder why it's the people that are considered smart." She took Balagog's hand in her own and warmly asked, "And yours?"

"The Emperor has arrived." Balagog said quietly.

"What? Already?" Gerda asked, startled. "I thought the weding was planned for next month."

"Plans have changed, apparently." Balagog sighed, "Commander Maro is taking no chances with the Emperor's security, despite the fact there were no further attempts on either my life or any Imperial officer under his command."

"So… when is he going to ask for you?" Gerda asked him, a bit uncertain. Balagog was in a strange mood today. He seemed almost… sad.

"Tomorrow evening," he said with a sigh. He looked away, "After that, my business in Skyrim will be concluded."

Oh.

No. Not yet. Gerda was not ready for him to leave yet.

"Do you… want to leave?" She asked him in a trembling voice.

Balagog turned to her in surprise. "I… Do you want me to stay?" he asked her instead of answering.

Gerda took both his hands into hers, "Yes, Balagog. I do." At his relieved smile, she added, "I want to stay with you, no matter where we live. If… if you want to leave Skyrim, I could go with you," she told him a bit shakily.

Balagog squeezed her hand and sighed in relief.

"Gerda," he suddenly seemed even more nervous than before. He took a deep breath, "I love you. Will you marry me?"

Her heart almost burst. She shakily stood up. Then she pulled Balagog to his feet and kissed him for all she was worth.

As they parted, Gerda only said one word.

_"Yes."_

-balablob-balablob-balablob-

**A/N:** To anyone interested: I posted some Gerda screenshots on flickr. The links are on my profile :)

Also, here's some more backstory for Gerda, specifically how she dealt with all those Daedra trying to steal her soul.

**Warning**: Major quest spoilers. (But hey, it's 2014, if you haven't played those quests yet, you never will, so read on.)

**Companions questline**

"So you want me to give my soul to Hircine?" Gerda asked incredulously.

"Well… yes," Skjor added in his usual harsh and direct tone.

Gerda just lifted her eyebrows at them, "How about no?"

Skjor scowled.

Looked like she was not so popular with him anymore. Oh well.

(After several jobs and retrieving even more fragments of the Axe of That One Old Guy she asked Kodlak if he had any job for her. He sent her to wipe out the Glenmoril Witches Coven…)

**Dawnguard**

"So you want me to give my soul to creepy super-Necromancers or give my soul to Molag Bal, the God of Rape?" Gerda sighed. Not again… "How about no?"

Serana crossed her arms… and pushed her breasts up.

'Sorry, girl, that doesn't work on me.' Gerda thought.

"How do you plan to defeat my father then? As long as he exists, the Vampire attacks on innocents will not stop." Serana stated coldly.

'Oooh, manipulation.' Gerda thought sarcastically. Then she thought about it.

The Thief way failed her. She was not made for sneaking around. She was and always will be a Warrior.

Gerda looked down at her Necklace of Disease Immunity. Then she remembered that she was very good at killing Vampires. Her face stretched with an evil grin.

"Well, the only way to stop Harkon is to kill him," she said. "So, while we are here, inside Castle Volkihar…"

Serana just sighed sadly.

(And then they killed every Vampire inside. Aside from Serana, of course. Isran was a bit surprised, but very happy to hear the good news.

Serana seduced some other poor sod to go with her to the Soul Cairn to find her mother… They never returned. All others gave up on the whole creepy 'sacrificing their soul' thing as a bad idea. No one wanted to become a vampire either.

Gerda eventually stumbled upon the very long cave that led her to the Snow Elf and the whole Vase Full of Water challenge. She went with it, sure, why not?

When Vyrthur told her that the Prophecy was fake, she simply snorted. Then she killed him - LIKE A DRAGONBORN.)

**Solstheim**

"So you want me to give my soul to… whatever Daedra that book belongs to?" Gerda asked, not even really surprised this time. "How about no?"

She felt betrayed. She thought she finally found someone who will share her unwillingness to enslave herself to Daedra among the Skaal, but here Frea all but asked her to hand over the soul of a Dragonborn to the Daedric Gods to save their little village.

"We have no choice!" Frea exclaimed desperately. "We must defeat Miraak. There is no other way!"

Gerda glared at her, "There is always a way." She snorted, "Maybe I'll call for… an old friend. He already sent one Daedric artifact back to Oblivion. He might know what to do."

"But what about…?" Frea started but Gerda didn't want to hear it.

"If you have a problem with this Miraak," she started, then added forcefully, "go fight him yourself!"

She turned on her heel and walked away. If Frea was so desperate, she could go and touch that Black Book on her own.

(Later, she came back with Erandur. It seemed to be too late, as Miraak managed to open a portal to Solstheim, but Gerda was a powerful Dragonborn too.

She arrived at his temple with the Skaal and together they put Miraak down… again. Those tentacled eyeballs looked a bit… miffed but Gerda didn't really care.

She spent several months dealing with problems on Solstheim and wiping out the last of Miraak's cultists. Some of which wanted to worship her, now that she defeated 'The First'.

Errr, no thanks.)

**Mage's College**

"…your actions have proved your readiness to lead the College of Winterhold." Quaranir stated grandiously.

"How about n… wait, what?" Gerda was shocked. Could it be? The only faction that did not ask for her soul was the one that everyone accused of and hated for it? That… was unexpected.

Tolfdir quickly jumped in, when he saw Gerda was speechless, "You are to be the Archmange? A great idea! I can think of no one more deserving of that title than you." He all but threw the Archmage's robes and the key to his personal quarters at her.

"Wha…" Before Gerda got over her shock, he left. The Elves left too... and took the Eye with them. Gerda suddenly realized she stood there alone. "What just happened?"

She looked down at the robes in her hands. They were still covered in Aren's blood. How very… thoughtful of Tolfdir to hand them over like this.

Well. Looked like she was the Archmange now.

…Huh.

**Extra**: 'Poor beasts learned not to mess with me…'

Gerda ran along the road near Kolskeggr Mine, when she was set upon by three Forsworn looters.

She readied her sword and shield. Once they ran close enough to her, she roared her fierce battlecry… when suddenly she heard an answering dragon roar, close by.

'Gods, not right now…' she thought, annoyed.

The dragon swooped down and landed on the road right in front of them. Then it turned towards the Forsworn and did its best to burn them to a crisp.

Well, Gerda thought to herself, what a nice dragon. She need not get involved… if the dragon wanted to kill her enemies first, she wouldn't complain.

Once the Forsworn were dead, Gerda readied her shield once again.

The dragon took one look at her… and promptly flew away.

… Now Gerda felt kind of guilty for almost attacking it.

(This actually happened in the game. True story, bro'.)

**A/N** (another one):

Thank you, Zoop, for inspiring me to write this. If not for you, I never would have dared write this fic. Or write in English at all.

To anyone who doesn't yet know who lady Zoop is, find her here on fanfiction and go read her fics. She is amazingly talented and very funny. :)

You might have noticed I used some concepts from the mod Interesting NPC's. I couldn't help it, they just… fit so well. So I want to thank and give credit to Kris Takahashi, too. Check out his mod over at 3dnpc com. He's awesome.


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